


Combined Arms: Cold War

by FredericusRed



Category: Girls und Panzer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 12:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 51,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11162064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FredericusRed/pseuds/FredericusRed
Summary: In WWII, St. Petersburg was the site of an infamous battle that lasted over 900 days. Now, the sounds of cannon and track, roaring engine, and the rattle of guns will come again. After suffering defeat in the CATAC tournament, bitter rivals Saunders and Pravda, and their airborne allies, will collide to salvage their honor.





	1. Chapter 1

**TUSKEGEE**

 

A cool Baltic wind swept over the sea, churning waves and howling into the darkness.  A moonless night was made less lonely by the multitude of stars above.  White lights twinkled through the endless black velvet.  A pair of tired eyes looked up at them wishing they could slip the surly bonds of earth.  A white noise tempted the eyes to shut and go away to the Land of Nod.

 

“Fallin’ asleep there?” cracked a deep voice.

 

“No sir!” a young voice replied, “Just a little distracted.”

 

“Give yourself a slap, you were listing lazily to the right and dangerously close to me.”

 

“Yes, sir!  Yes, sir!  Sorry, sir!”

 

“Don’t stress it, kid,” said a third voice, “Happens to all of us on our first time.  Right, Tuskegee?”

 

“Yeah, it does, Tomahawk.  Hatchling One, just hold out for a few more minutes.  Hatchling Two, you still awake back there?”

 

“Doin’ okay.  Doin’ okay.”

 

Four planes flew through the air.  The propellers whirring and roaring as loudly as they could. At the head of the formation was a pair of P-40 Kittyhawks in dark green paint with shark jaws drawn on the engine.  The P-40s were tailed by a pair of veteran pilots flying the famous P-51 Mustang.  The sleek steel hull shimmered like a star and the bright red tail let everyone know the wing was elite.  Navigation lights shone brightly on the tail and wings.  In the red and green lights was the Screaming Eagle of Midway High School. 

 

“There she is,” said Tuskegee happily, “We can head home now.”

 

A sprawling city with tall spires and long bridges.  Its old architecture from centuries’ gone stood head and shoulder above the bastardized buildings of the twentieth, and the buildings of the twenty first were beginning to sprawl.  Walking the streets of the old city, which bore three names, was a travel through time.

 

“St. Petersburg, a beautiful city,” said Hatchling One.

 

“I’ll take the warmth of Honolulu any day over Russia,” said Tomahawk.

 

“Request permission to head back, captain,” said Hatchling Two.

 

“Permission granted.  The ship can manage on its own now.  All planes turn bearing two-seven-zero.  Repeat, two-seven-zero.”

 

“Hey, Tuskegee have you figured out what we’re going to do about the Ruskies?”

 

“Figure it out tomorrow after a good night’s rest.  Match is in two days, more than enough time.”

 

**THE BEAR**

****

“Comrade Commander, the American’s have arrived.”

 

A student with black hair and blue eyes marched into the room.  His uniform was army green and the boots were obsidian black.  A bright red and yellow crest adorned his garrison cap.  The crest was a T-square, steel squares, and scissors arranged in a way to mimic the infamous hammer and sickle.  Across his chest were rows of medal ribbons.

 

The student officer had entered a grand office.  Red carpet went from green wall to green wall.  Portraits of previous commanders stared imposingly at anyone who dared enter.  A large velvet chair waited behind a black desk.  In one corner of the room sat a globe with pins stuck into certain cities, and in the other was a small coffee table and a pair of chairs.

 

“I know Comrade Wolf,” said a shadow by the window, “I can see them from here.”

 

The shadow pointed to red and green lights floating across the sky.

 

“Perhaps you should look up and open your eyes rather than waiting for the men in naval studies to tell you what is happening.  Slack jaws and laziness costs victories.”

 

Comrade Commander took his seat at the desk.  He was broad fellow, with strong arms accented by his only average height.  Steel gray eyes pierced through long grey bangs.  He wore the same uniform as his subordinate but many more ribbons and medals.  His hat was an officer’s hat with a light blue band.  Impressive tassels and bars clung to the shoulders denoting his great rank.

 

“Is that all you wanted, Comrade Wolf?”

 

“Commander Bear, should we not contact our sister school and begin planning?  The Americans are experts in ground attack and bombing.  They will be difficult to content with in this new format.”

 

“I agree, but Comrade Commander Snowdrift has seen it fit to sleep tonight.  There will be no coordinated planning.”

 

“So we do nothing.”

 

“Of course not.  Inform the mechanics and have them prepare the planes.  I want them in perfect condition.  Then find the most fluent English speakers in the school.  They will be tasked to conduct reconnaissance on the Americans.”

 

“Infiltrate the school ship?”

 

“Perhaps, but befriending and having them willingly tell us their secrets will suffice.”

 

“By your command.”

 

“And one more thing, make sure the teams understands the importance of this match.  The Student Council will not be pleased with another crushing defeat.”

 

**KEI THOMPSON**

 

A massive crowd gathered in the Saunders’ stadium, a facility almost as large as the ones on land.  Bright lights blazed down on the football field, making it seem like day.  A team of red and grey faced off against their white and blue adversaries.  Strong boys blocked and tackled each other.  The quarterback hurled a long pass, a prayer leaving his lips.

 

“Touchdown!”

 

A burly football player danced in the end zone.  The crowd went wild.  Air horns blasted beside the long obnoxious drone of the vuvuzela.  Hoots and hollers and cheers drowned out the announcer.  Big bright flags flew frantically in the wind.  Boys and girls in bright team colours and makeup snarled and called each other out.  The sound carried over the open sea and must’ve awoken then entire Baltic Coast.

 

“Go Longhorns!  Woo!” cheered a blonde hair, blue eyed commander.

 

Kei stood up on her seat screaming as loud as she could.  Her drink sloshed around and the popcorn fell around.  Nobody cared about the mess.  They were all too busy getting in on the game.

 

RING!  RING!  RING!

 

Between the play, Kei fumbled for her phone.

 

“Hey, what’s up?!” she shouted into her phone.

 

“Kei!” the phone shouted, “We’re almost at St. Petersburg and –“

 

“Go Giants!”

 

“Kei, where are you?”

 

“At the stadium watching Midway’s football teams.  What’s the big deal, Alisa?” Kei pointed out, “Hey! Get that guy!  Block him!  Block him!”

 

“What’s the big deal?  We’re about to dock in Russia and we haven’t even started planning our strategy for the match.”

 

“Oh we’ll be fine, they lost too after all.”

 

“To a better team,” Alisa sighed, “But I’m not going to be able to pull you away from –“

 

“Interception!”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.  So who’s winning?”

 

“Who do you think?  My Texas Longhorns are up 28 – 3 in the second quarter against your New York Giants.  Your team sucks, Kei teased.

 

“The Giants always pick up in the third.  They’ll turn it around.”

 

“Oh yeah?  Wanna bet?”

 

“What are you thinking?”

 

“Well if your team wins I’ll pull an all-nighter on the battle plan you’re so worried about.”

 

“Okay, and if you win?”

 

“Ankou dance.”

 

“But that costume is so tight.  Fine, you’re on.”

 

“Oh and it’s in front of the boys.”

 

“Fine, but if you lose you’re doing it in addition to your all nighter.”

 

The crowd cheered as the Longhorns scored another touchdown.

 

“Sure, we just scored again so you better get your groove thing on.”

 

**NONNA “BLIZZARD” CHAIKOVSKY**

****

“Sleep, my beautiful good boy, Bauyshi bayu,” sang a soft voice.

 

In a starlit room Nonna Chaykovsky hummed in a cushioned chair beside a large bed.  A comfortable light red pajama set hung loosely on her hourglass figure.  Her shoulder length dark brown hair was still damp from a late evening bath, droplets twinkling like little gems in the dim light.  Silver-blue eyes looking longingly at the sleeping girl beside her.

 

“Quietly the moon is looking, into your cradle,” she sang sweetly, “I will tell you fairy tales and sing you little songs…”

 

Every note hung in the air, careful not to disrupt the calm, sweet, peace.  The covers on the bed rose and fell slowly like waves on the ocean.  It was very late in the night but Nonna didn’t feel tired at all.  She continued to sing like a young mother to her child.

 

BZZT!  BZZT!  BZZT!

 

Nonna’s phone vibrated and flashed with a new message.  The young woman stopped singing and waited for a moment.  The bed didn’t stir, still fast asleep.  Quietly unlocked her phone and turned the light away. 

 

_The Americans have arrived.  Sturmovik is moving._

 

 _Keep me posted,_ Nonna replied, _Thank you, Klara._

 

_But of course._

BZZT!

 

“GWAH!”

 

Katyusha sprang up from the bed with a deep short gasp.

 

“Nightmare?”

 

“I heard something,” said Katyuhsa, spying the glow of the phone, “I thought I told you not to wake the Russian Bear.”

 

“I didn’t, he was awake the entire time.”

 

“Not him, me.  I told him I wanted to sleep and we’ll deal with the match later.”

 

“I’ll be sure to tell him.  And I will tell him that a more terrifying bear is not as forgiving.”

 

Nonna smiled a small, nearly invisible smile as she fawned over Katyusha’s little outfit.   The petite general, with her icy cold demeanour and equally frozen green-blue eyes, could not be less intimidating.  Cold Commander Katyusha, and her child-like stature, was warm and snugly in a cute, yellow bear pajama complete with sleepy eyes, brown button nose, and fuzzy ears.  Were anyone to see her like this their hearts would melt from the cuteness.  And Katyusha absolute embarrassment would lead to much violence, but we won’t talk about that part.

 

“Good.  I’m going back to sleep, and you should too.”

 

“Of course, after I deal with our American visitors.”

 

“They’re here?  Now?”

 

“They are arriving.  Commander Vasily “Bear” Romanov, has called his team and mobilized his school to greet them.  I thought it wise to meet with him tonight.”

 

Katyusha scoffed, “Those pilots worry too much.  A the slightest cloud they fear they can’t fly.”

 

Katyusha waddled to the window and looked out across the city.  In the harbour she could see the tall towers the Midway and Saunders’ carriers.

 

“We don’t have a reason to fear the Americans.”

 

“Just as we had no reason to fear Ooarai during the internationals, and no reason to fear Ohka in the last match,” said Nonna coldly, “Is that not correct?”

 

“Ooarai, Ohka,” Katyusha flinched, “We practice first thing tomorrow morning.”

 

“Of course,” said Nonna texting away.


	2. Chapter 2

**TEAM USA**

 

A long night means a long rest, and that means nothing would get done until the afternoon.  The Americans had gathered in a small board room at the top of the Saunders’ carrier overlooking the city.  From their high perch, they could watch the tanks roll out onto the streets to irritate and intimidate the poor Russian drivers, or wave at the pilots as they flew by the tower.

 

“The match has a maximum of twenty five tanks and just as many planes,” said Alisa as she wrote the line ups on the board, “Last round was a learning experience.  We used the same line ups we always did, and AirCom tried to adapt to the new ground attack role.”

 

Alisa was the first lieutenant of Saunders.  She was shorter than average and had short hair tied up into pig tails.  She had a very slender frame unlike her friends and freckles across her nose.  Like everyone else she wore the standard grey blazer and red skirt Saunders uniform.

 

“We need to change our tank line up in order to counter the enemy air.”

 

Pop!

 

Naomi popped her pink bubble gum and kept chewing.  The second lieutenant had boyishly short hair but a curvaceous feminine figure.  As the ace gunner of Saunders she had to have keen vision, and the devious twinkle in her brown eyes showed it.

 

“So, we goin’ with faster tanks?” asked Naomi, “We were pretty slow getting away from those fighter bombers.”

 

“Partly our fault,” said Ted “Tuskegee” Franklin, “Out interceptors got pulled away by another flight.  Tanks have to keep their distance too.  You guys got mixed in and we couldn’t bomb because of friendly fire.”

 

Ted “Tuskegee” Franklin was the team captain of the Screaming Eagles of Midway High School.  The senior seemed to fit every young girls dream: tall, dark, handsome.  Tall at about six foot, dark not only from the colour of his skin, but his short curly black hair, and handsome from his strong body and chiseled face.  He wore a thick pilot’s jacket, emblazoned with the Screaming Eagle on the back, over a casual red collared shirt and paired it off with a pair of well-worn jeans and sneakers.

 

“Eh, it was just danger close,” said Naomi, “No big deal.”

 

“Tomahawk, got any ideas?”

 

Allen “Tomahawk” Smith was the second in command for Screaming Eagles. Just as tall as Tuskegee but wider around the belly.  A sad victim of American fast food, but that didn’t stop him. He had wavy blonde hair that hadn’t been cut in months.  Hazel eyes were barely distinguishable through the thick bush of bangs.  Tomahawk was far more casual in his dress, wearing just a t-shirt and jeans.

 

“I want to know more about the enemy tankery team.  And we need to brief everyone on Sturmovik.  So let’s start there before we get into line ups and formations.  But I think we’ve pretty much learned that heavy bomber carpet bombing isn’t going to work.”

 

“Umm… I’d like that too if you don’t mind.”

 

“Good thinkin’” said Tuskegee

 

Naomi looked over her shoulder at the timid looking guy in the back.  He had crew cut his blond hair and had bright green eyes.  He was very thin, seeming like a single little hug could snap him in half.  The red fie in his sky blue dress uniform indicated he was a freshman. 

 

“Who are you again?”

 

“Uhh…”

 

“He’s our rookie wing leader,” said Tuskegee, “Go on, introduce yourself.”

 

“Rookie wing leader Timothy Williams,” he saluted.

 

“Call sign’s Hatchling One,” said Tomahawk, “Hasn’t earned his name yet.”

 

“He’ll get there,” said Tuskegee, “So about Pravda’s tanks.”

 

“Kei’s probably the best to ask,” said Alisa, “Hey, Kei could you…”

 

The plucky commander was sitting at the back of the room trying to balance a pencil on her lip.  The tight pink plastic terror of the Anko suit was still constricting her. 

 

“Kei!  Care to help us out.”

 

The pencil dropped and clattered to the floor.  Kei nodded and walked up to the board with a sunny smile.

 

“Okay!  Nobody knows Pravda better than I do.  When we face them their line up looks like this,” Kei wrote on the board, “Lots of heavier armour and T-35-85s.  Out range, outgun, and surround is usually what they do.  The Ooarai vs Pravda match is a pretty good demonstration.  Do we still have that recording?”

 

“In the back,” said Alisa, “Any ideas, Eagles?”

 

“A few,” said Tuskegee, “How fast do those heavy tanks go?”

 

“Fifty kph, give or take a few.  Probably slower depending on terrain.”

 

“We’re all strike fighters, captain.  It’s just a matter of getting bombs on target,” said Tomahawk, “Problem is the enemy air.”

 

“Yeah, what’s Pravda’s air like?” asked Kei.

 

“Tough.  Russian planes, man, heavily armoured with a lot of fire power,” Tuskegee took his place at the head of the room, “Fighters will probably by La’s and Yaks.  IL-2 support aircraft.  Not much for anti-ground without rockets but a pain for our laden fighters.”

 

“What about bombers?”

 

“Nothing to worry about,” said Tomahawk, “Lighter bombers are easy to pick off, heavy bombers are as maneuverable as a tub.  We’ll can take them out easy.”

 

“Like the B-17?” quipped Naomi.

 

“It did its job and pulled away a wing of fighters,” said Tuskegee.

 

“Here’s a question, are you going to be able to intercept all of them?  What if one gets through?” posed Alisa.

 

“Then we’re dead,” joked Kei.

 

“Screaming Eagles will focus on first strike,” said Tuskegee, “We’ll wipe out as many tanks before you even see them and knock out the air right after.  Hmm… but we’ll need a follow up.  I wonder if those frontline bombers would do any good.”

 

“I might have an idea,” said Timothy, “But I think we need to consider another thing first.”

 

Everyone looked over at the rookie.

 

“The time of the match.”

 

**TEAM RUSSIA**

 

It was early in the morning, and the city was just starting to wake.  But by this time, both Pravda men and women had assembled in a large dark lecture hall.  A projector hung overhead.  The Pravda emblem shone brightly on the screen.  The two commanders and their lieutenants waited for the rank and file to settle. 

 

“All eyes forward!” commanded The Bear, “Silence, immediately.”

 

The pilots snapped forward while the girlish tankers shuffled into silence.

 

“Comrade Commander Katyusha, would you like to begin?”

 

“Pilots first.  Katyusha wants to hear your plan since your air support was obliterated last match.”

 

“I warned you that Ohka was formidable.  You’re unwillingness to account for them was also to blame for our defeat,” said Comrade Wolf.

 

“Comrade Wolf!  Do no disrespect the commanders,” said Comrade Bear, “But I must agree with my subordinate.  There were failures on both ends.”

 

“Agreed, Commander Vasily ‘Bear’ Romanov,” said Nonna, “And we not make those same mistakes.  Will we, Katyusha?”

 

“Katyusha does not make the same mistake twice.”

 

“Comrade Artyom ‘Wolf’ Sokolov, take control of the projector,” The Bear took his place behind the podium, “Our enemy is the Americans.  We’ve face them before and every time it was a bloody battle.  A victory followed by a defeat followed by a victory.  But now we are breaking new ground in this combined arms tournament.  We underestimated the Yaponskiy and Britanskaya, but we are very familiar with this foe.”

 

The projector flipped the image.  The silhouettes of American fighters appeared with detailed statistics and characteristics.  The pilots were less interested, having fought Midway for years on end, but tank commanders were particularly interested.  As The Bear continued to speak, his comrade moved highlighted areas of interest. 

 

“Every American plane is capable of dropping bombs of five hundred kilograms or greater.  They also have a large bomber fleet brimming with machine guns.  Experience has taught us these are no push overs when assaulting.  The Americans are experts at bombing.”

 

Wolf switched the image to a video.  Clips of Americans bombing and strafing with pin point accuracy.  The massive bombs flashing brighter and thundering louder than anything they had experienced before.

 

“Tankists, your task to assist AirCom is simple.  Don’t get hit.  Cover and move, cover and move.”

 

“Easier said than done.”

 

 “Comrade Katyusha, the floor is yours.”

 

“Nonna.”

 

Nonna took The Bear’s place and the flipped the projector to Saunders’ tanks.  As with the aircraft, the pilots had more interest in the ground forces than the tankers.  There was less variety than the aircraft.  Saunders focused on a single, well made, jack of all trades design rather than specialists tanks.  Still the Sherman was a respectable advisory.

 

“This is the most common tank for Saunders.  Depending on the variant it can pierce our armour from one hundred to seven hundred fifty meters.  They also have many light tanks but they are not of concern.  Average speed is about fifty kilometers per hour.  Pravda expects you will not have difficulty destroying these vehicles.”

 

“Leave it to the tanks then.  Air to air, tank to tank.”

 

“No, if we do that we lose valuable assets because our tanks will be under air assault and ambushed sooner than we engage their armour,” said Nonna, “Saunders tactics are focused on speed and overwhelming firepower.  They know how to use numbers to maximum effectiveness.  Do not underestimate them, so Sturmovik must engage enemy tanks.”

 

“So what’s the plan?”

 

“The Americans will come to us,” said Vasily, “Sturmovik will form into three groups.  IL-2 ground support, escort, and interception.  Interception will seek and destroy the American bombers.”

 

“What about the fighters?”

 

“As Sturmovik follows over the tanks, the Americans will come.  Escort group will deal with them.”

 

“But we IL-2s will be vulnerable.”

 

“Escort will protect and if you fall, know that your sacrifice saved a tank below.  Victory is determined by the tankery team we are there to support.  Understood, comrade?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“What is the tankery team’s plan?”

 

“As we always plan.  The Cauldron.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**KEI THOMPSON**

 

“Platoon halt,” ordered Kei.

 

She popped out of the turret and looked through her binoculars.  The late afternoon sun shone down on the battlefield to be.  Two small abandoned villages sat in the meadows between very steep hills.  Each village had a large church and steeple, a few small restaurants, and Soviet tenements and housing.  Old rusting playgrounds squeezed in the coastal breeze in melancholic memory.  A river with several stone bridges ran between the villages.  The surrounding area was patched with woods and narrow roads.  The areas that weren’t wooded was rough and rocky and had very soft earth.

 

“Our light tanks can get through that,” radioed Alisa, “The Shermans, I’m not so sure.”

 

“Let’s give it a shot.  Get mechanics and recovery on the line.  We might need them,” said Kei, “All tanks roll out.”

 

“Roger, dodger.”

 

Ten Shermans with short seventy five millimetre cannons rumbled across the peaceful meadow turning up dirt and grass as they went.  The smell of diesel and fuel filled the air.  The humidity stuck to their skin making the inside of the tank stuffy and suffocating.  Lucky for Kei and the commanders they could stand out of the turret top.  Their crews opened the hatches to try and let some air flow through the cabin.  The medium tanks rolled onto the soft earth.  Everything seemed to be going well.  The ground was soft but they weren’t sinking.  Speed dropped slightly but that was expected.

 

“Looks like the ground is good enough for us.  Stuart troop, do some recon in the woods I want to know what it’s like.  HQ what’s Screaming Eagle’s ETA?”

 

“Twenty minutes, give or take.  You sure you want them to strafe you?”

 

“That’s what the practice is for.  Okay, while we wait let’s see if there are some places to ford the river.  Who wants to be first in the water?”

 

“I elect Alisa,” said Naomi.

 

“Agreed.  Alisa you’re going in first.”

 

“Nope, no way.  I refuse.”

 

“If you don’t we’ll have a briefing,” said Kei in a dark devilish voice.

 

“You’re hearing things.  I said I’d be delighted.”

 

“Thought so,” said Kei in a sing song voice.

 

The tanks formed a single file and followed the river.  The crystal clear water flowed turbulently, spraying against the rough banks.  From the tops of the tanks it was hard to gauge the depth of the water.  So, Kei and the other commanders hopped out and waded into the water.

 

“This looks like a good spot,” said Naomi, “No silt and just rocky enough.  Current isn’t too strong either.  You shouldn’t get stuck.”

 

“Right on.  Give it a shot, Alisa,” Kei waved to the platoon, “Cover the crossing like you should, girls.”

 

The other four tanks formed a defensive line along the banks.  Alisa ordered her driver forward.  The tank sloshed into the water.  Everyone in the tank gasped like they just dove into the water themselves.  The sound of rushing water dully went through the tank.  Ears perked to the sound of the engine. 

 

“Doing well so far,” reported Alisa, “Put a little more speed into it.”

 

“Roger.”

 

Alisa was halfway across the river when she spotted a shadow across the field.

 

_Probably nothing._

 

“Contact front!  Contact front!”

 

_What?!_

 

“Range seven fifty,” said Naomi, “Looks like a KV-1.”

 

“The Russians?  What are they doing here?” Kei grabbed her binoculars, “We can’t penetrate each other from here.  All tanks keep an eye on it.”

 

“What about me?” asked Alisa.

 

“Just keep crossing.  You’ll be fine.”

 

“Easy for you to say.  You’re not the one stuck in the river when the flag pops,” complained Alisa, “Beth, better get going faster.”

 

Two more tanks appeared across the river, a pair of short barrel T-34s.  The Russians came out of their turrets to stare at their American counter parts.  There was some chatter over the open radio and Katyusha’s voice came through clearly.  Then the tanks started to slowly advance when Alisa was nearly across.

 

“I don’t like this,” said Alisa.

 

“We might be able to punch through at five hundred,” said Naomi, “Though I’d like to have the 76’ers or the Firefly here.”

 

“Target the T-34s but don’t fire unless I order,” Kei grabbed her radio, “Second platoon, 76’ers how soon can you get to me?”

 

“Ten minutes, give or take?”

 

“Hurry up,” said Alisa.

 

“Anyone else got anything to report?” Kei said analytically, “Where’s the rest of the Russians?”

 

“Where’s Tuskegee and the rest of Screaming Eagles?”

 

“Five minutes,” replied Tuskegee, “We’ve got a full load.  What’s going on?”

 

“Russians across the river,” said Kei, “Up for a show of force?”

 

Tuskegee laughed, “Sure, but is that a good idea?”

 

“It’s just in good fun.  Rile everyone up before the match.  Should make it more exciting.”

 

“Rodger dodger.  Eagles, let’s buzz the Russians.”

 

**NONNA CHAIKOVSKY**

****

“Commander Katyusha, detachment one reports they’ve encountered the Americans.”

 

“Americans?  What are they doing here?”

 

“Probably the same as we are,” said Nonna, “Shall we leave them be?”

 

In preparation for the match and to further refine their plans Pravda moved out in force to survey and practice on the field.  The total force of Pravda numbered twenty tanks composed of T-34s, with short 75mm and 76mm barrels, KV-1s of the same calibre, T-34-85s, and Nonna infamous IS-2.

 

Currently the company was in the village mapping the roads and possible ambush sectors.  Two pairs of tanks were sent to the extreme ends of the river to examine the bridges and a small detachment was sent to explore the rest. 

 

“Does the bear let the wolf be when it enters its cave?” Karyusha growled, “Tell the tanks to advance.  All main tank platoons move to the river.  We’ll show them how strong we are?”

 

“Hold fire,” said Nonna, “We don’t want to cause any real problems, do we?  Sturmovik, do you read?”

 

“Loud and clear.”

 

“We’ve found the Americans at the river and are engaging in a show of force.”

 

“Understood we’ll see you there.”

 

“Umm… Nina here.  We’re a little slow, but we’ll get there.”

 

The company rallied from across the battlefield and marched toward the river.  Pravda formed into three columns with Nonna’s IS-2 at the lead.  Turrets pointed forward and commanders were unbuttoned. 

 

When they arrived, an American tank had already crossed the river and another was following.  On the other bank three short barrelled Shermans were cautiously watching the advancing Russian detachment.  Katyusha’s detachment stopped roughly one hundred meters from the banks.  Each of the guns picked a target and waited for the order.

 

“It seems they are just here to reconnoitre the area as we are,” said Nonna, “I believe we should leave them be.”

 

“Absolutely not.  Don’t let them cross the river,” ordered Katyusha, “All tanks advance and surround their crossing.”

 

“Understood, moving up.”

 

As the tanks began to move Nonna spotted shadows far away.  A single shadow became three, then five.

 

“More tanks,” Nonna reported, “Seventy six millimetre or fireflies.”

 

Without orders the formation began to spread out at full speed.  Across the river the Americans were doing the same thing.  Every commander dropped into the turret and called a target.  Loaders grabbed and prepared the next round.  Gunners leaned forward locked on targets.  Drivers tried to keep their feet from shaking.  Grips tightened around the triggers and levers.  A single word and the shells would fly. 

 

“What are you doing?!  I did not give the order to change formation.  Reform and go forward in good order.  Do not be scared by the Americans.  They are just Shermans.”

 

“Those long guns are capable of penetrating our armour, Katyusha.  Discretion is always better than valor.”

 

“Commander Katyusha, we’ve encountered Saunders in the woods.”

 

“Same here.”

 

“What are they doing?” asked Katyusha.

 

“Just following us. Orders?”

 

“Stop moving and don’t let them pass you.”

 

“Do we shoot?”

 

“NO!  Don’t shoot, you idiot!  Do you want to give away our capabilities before the official match?”

 

As Katyusha was berating and barking at her little soldiers, Nonna was taking the situation.  Then her keen eyes saw someone waving at her.  Alisa, the Saunders officer, was waving and shouting.  The words were indistinguishable but the noise was typically loud especially from an obnoxious American.

 

 

Nonna tuned the radio, “Privet?”

 

“Hey Nonna, it’s Alisa.  Since you haven’t shot me I’m guessing you’re shocked as we are.”

 

“Indeed.  Is Kei listening in?”

 

“Not yet, but I want to patch both Katyusha and Kei together to sort this out before sparks start flying.”

 

“Leave it to me,” Nonna called her commander, “Katyusha, Saunders wants to talk to you.  Perhaps you can intimidate them into turning away.”

 

“Ha!  Why would I want to speak with them when our tanks are superior?”

 

“Can you not see the benefit?  The Great Katyusha frightens Saunders into retreat without a single shot and only a single word.  It would only serve to bolster your reputation as a grand commander.”

 

“I like the sound of that.  Fine.  Kei of Saunders, are you listening?”

 

“I am le petite general.  What is it?”

 

“I’m not petite!  I am Katyusha!”

 

“Sure, sure.  So what’d you need?”

 

“Take your forces and return across the river.  This side is Russian land.”

 

“Sure no problem.  Alisa and her partner will head down to the bridge and cross back.  No harm no foul.”

 

“No, they will withdraw from the same spot they came.  Ford the river and head back.  If you don’t do it soon, we’ll open fire.”

 

“Katyusha!” exclaimed Nonna and Alisa.

 

Kei laughed, “We’ll get you before you even have a chance to shoot.”

 

“Arrogant American, our guns outrange you and have better firepower.  How can you even imagine that –“

 

BBBRRREEEEOOOOWWWW!

 

A P-51 soared in from the north, swooping like and eagle.  Four great machines fell on Pravda’s formation.  Commanders panicked and ordered their tanks to move.  Eyes fixed on the large bombs, anxious for the moment they would be released.  Screaming Eagles screeched toward the earth pulling up with their payloads in their claws.  Dirt and grass and stones whipped in the strong gust.  Before Pravda could breathe a sigh of relief a new wave of P-47s fell on the group.  The bulkier brothers fell faster and held more bombs.  The large propellers roared deeply.

 

Across the river Saunders’ tank commanders waved at their airborne allies and laughed whenever a Pravda tank flinched.

 

“So, about that bridge,” said Kei.

 

**TED “TUSKEGEE” FRANKLIN**

 

The wings of his red tailed P-51 shook as the winds whipped in the dive.  His determined eyes glared through the reflector sight.  A single press would unleash a hail of bullets or drop thunder in an instant.  A particular long haired blonde commander was in his sight and the girl didn’t flinch.  Ted pulled hard on the stick yanking the nose up.  Blood rushed from his head and his body felt heavier.

 

“Cutting a little close there captain,” said Tomahawk.

 

“They asked us to buzz them so I’m going to buzz them,” he replied, “Form up on me.  We’ll take a level sweep over their head then head back up.”

 

“Roger.”

 

Ted and his wing man formed up wing to wing and swept in from the east.  Their fighters dropped to thirty meters and soared over the tank formation.  Chatter filled the radio in English and Russian.  Both sides seemed to be screaming at each other over the incident.  Ted couldn’t help but smile as he ascended.

 

“Squadron leader,” said Tim, “I think I see something in the distance.  Looks like another tank, or two.”

 

“Follow me,” said Ted, “P-47s, stay here and keep and watch Pravda.  Element two watch over the P-47s.”

 

The squad acknowledged the order and ascended to an acceptable bombing height.  From above, Pravda seemed relieved as the tanks returned to a tighter formation. 

 

Ted’s wing descended to the thirty meters above ground.  Roughly one mile ahead a pair of tanks were rushing to the confrontation.  The first was a large bulky machine with a tall square turret and wide stubby cannon.  The second tank was a small tank, like a half-pint T-34.  Ted ordered the rookies to stay above as cover as the veterans sung over the tanks.  The tanks seemed to pick up speed after the first pass.

 

“Are we up next?” asked Tim.

 

Ted looked around the area, “Not yet.  We’ll tail them back to the – hold on.  Four bogeys to the north.  Flying low and slow.  Let’s check it out.”

 

“Sturmovik?”

 

“Probably.  Ascent to one thousand meters.  We’ll tail them all the way.”

 

“Roger.”

 

Tomahawk reported the approaching pair of tanks which only caused more tension between Katyusha and Kei.  The tank commanders were still bickering over a little detail of how the tanks should return.  A matter of pride that seemed trivial, but pilots understood better than most.

 

Squadron naturally formed rivalries and every chance they got to push the other around was victory.  Knights of the air, could be as bad as scoundrels when their pride was on the line.  Every plane shot down, every bomb that got through, and every point taken was a shot to their pride.  And a shot received meant a shot returned.

 

“There they are,” said Tomahawk, “IL-2s.”

 

Russian’s flying tanks flew in tight formation.  It had very wide slightly curved wings and a box like cockpit and gunner.  Red stars adorned on the tail and fuselage stood out against the black and green camouflage.  In addition to a small payload of bombs, the flying tanks wielded a pair of 37-mm cannons beneath the wings.  Pravda pilots looked up but kept didn’t flinch when Midway followed above them.

 

“When do we attack?” asked Tim.

 

“We don’t,” said Tomahawk, “Keep your eyes peeled and look for the fighters.”

 

“Kei, we’ve got Russian planes headed your way.  Solve your little dispute?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Russians, right?”

 

“You know it.”

 

“I think they’re saying the same about us,” said Tim, “And why can’t we just shoot them down?”

 

“Gentleman’s Rules,” said Ted, “We agreed to Gentleman’s Rules.”

 

The strange formation of Russian attackers and their American escort returned to the flashpoint.  Much to their surprise, both Pravda and Midway, things seemed to have escalated in a far more strange way.  Kei’s forward Sherman platoon had completed a crossing and behind them was Katyusha’s forward platoon.  Over the radio the two were shouting that they should go back despite both crossing the border. Above Midway was still circling intimidatingly trying to figure out what ones to attack first.  Then the IL-2s took to circling over the rear of Saunders’ formation.

 

“What the hell happened?” asked Tomahawk.

 

“I don’t know but this damn funny,” said Ted, “Looks like slow pokes are catching up.”

 

The KV-2 and its little partner had reached a small knoll and parked.  The turret turned slowly, careful not to tip the tank over.

 

“Looks like she’s lining up for a serious shot,” said Tomahawk.

 

“Hatchling One, Hatchling Two, give her a buzz but don’t drop.  Just deter her.  We’ll cover you should anything happen.”

 

“Yes sir,” said Tim nervously, “Okay.  Let’s go at thirty degree dive and pull up at… a hundred meters?”

 

“Okay, right behind you.”

 

**VASILY “BEAR” ROMANOV**

 

 

“Commander, Midway has found, us, IL-2 wind.  Shall we engage?”

 

“Nyet, do not fire unless fired upon.  Gentleman’s Rules,” said Vasily, “Continue on course to target area.  We will arrive shortly.”

 

Vasily and his squadron were high in the air, flying just beneath the clouds.  The Russian Bear flew in a grey and white La-5FN.  Its flat nose, and narrower elliptical wings didn’t inspire awe like the sleek Spitfire.  Its stocky shape didn’t make it as fast as the P-51, nor did it scream and howl like the Focke Wolf.  And it wasn’t as agile as Japan’s zero.  But where it did not excel it performed admirable.  A plane capable of every role give to it and respectable in its own rights.  A pair of cowl mounted 20mm machine guns could tear holes into wings from a single burst.

 

Beside the four La-5s was a pair of bright blue-grey Yak-9s.  White lightning bolts streaked across the rounder nose and bright red stars flashed on the same rounded wings.  The cockpit was taller and rounder allowing the pilot to look behind him.  The famous fighters were more lightly armed with only a single .50-cal machine gun and one 20mm cannon. 

 

“All fighters except my wings are to return to base,” ordered Vasily.

 

“Why commander?”

 

“If the Americans are in the air they would have brought their entire line up.  We’re going to investigate and assess their forces.  I don’t want them to do the same to us.”

 

“Understood,” said Artyom, “If we engage, Yaks to the lighter aircraft, and we will take the P-51s.  IL-2s are to engage enemy ground forces then retreat.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

Sturmovik’s fighter group arrived just as the P-40s were beginning an attack run.

 

“Wolf, follow me.  We’re forcing those fighters away.”

 

“Right behind you.”

 

The pair of La-5’s dove at full speed toward the P-40s.  Midway’s eyes was fixed on the slow KV-2 and completely oblivious to the swooping falcons.  Vasily, the Bear, soared past the following P-40 and swept between the American planes.  He looked beside him and caught the eye of the American pilot.  Panic turned his adversary’s white with terror. 

 

BTHOOM!

 

A bright flash blinded Vasily.  A massive thunder clap drowned out the engine and the world.  He pulled up sharply.  Stars and flashes clouded his vision as he tried to distinguish sky from ground.

 

“Commander!  Commander!”

 

The voices over the radio were slowly returning.

 

“I’m alright.  I’m alright.  Report, Wolf.”

 

“Midway dropped their bombs.  The KV-2 has been knocked out and an American Sherman is also out of action.”

 

“Friendly fire?”

 

“Nyet!  The KV-2 opened fire.”

 

“But who shot first?  Who –“

 

“Open fire!” ordered Katyusha.

 

Both sides on at the river unleashed a cacophony of fire and smoke.  The units that crossed the river went into a panic to try and escape.  Plumes of dirt burst into the air as shells smacked into the soft ground.  Without orders the IL-2s began strafing Saunders’ tanks.  The flying tanksThe large calibre shells bounced off the front armour with a splash of sparks.  At only twenty meters above the ground they dropped their bombs and pulled away.  The bombs landed in the river and exploded with tremendous force.  The Screaming Eagles entered the fray.  The P-47s began their heavy dive toward the rear of the formation.

 

Vasily pulled hard on the stick and rushed to intercept the fighter bombers.  The La-5 got as low as possible and soared just above the ground.  His wingman formed up beside him and matched him move for move, and pace for pace.  Together they pulled up and moved to take the P-47s head on.  Vasily and Artyom pulled the trigger.  Short bursts of bright red tracers flew between the propeller blades and up into the skies.  In the face of fire and collision the P-47s released their bombs early and pulled away.

 

“Commander behind you and above.”

 

Vasily looked up and spotted the P-51 diving on him.  A short burst of machine gun flew over his cockpit.  Vasily forced the plane in to a loop, eyes fixed on the P-51.  He prepared to fire as he came out of the loop but the fighter had zoomed off to prepare for another pass. 

 

“Tuskegee,” he growled, “Wolf stay with me and watch out for the wingman.  Tuskegee is mine.  All remaining fighters are to engage Midway and keep them away from the tanks.”

 

“Roger.”

 

“Acknowledged.”

 

Vasily took the momentary pause in the combat to regain his altitude, still focused on his adversary.  Tuskegee came in for another pass with his partner coming in from the other side.  Wolf spotted the danger and broke off to intercept.  The screaming eagle stared the stoic bear in the eyes as its approached.  Ted’s machine guns flashed, but Vasily didn’t flinch.  The shots went over and under as the plane shook from the recoil.  As they drew closer, Vasily turned the plane on its side and slipped between the convergence of the guns.  He let out his retaliatory burst.   Ted hopped over the volley and sped away as Vasily circled up and around.

 

_I will get you on this next attack._

 

Ted zoomed in for another run.  This time Vasily swept to the side and turned hard, trying to catch the profile of the P-51 or perhaps fall on its tail for a brief moment.  But Ted wouldn’t allow it.  The Screaming Eagle turned into his attacker and the two passed by each other.  They yanked hard on the sticks and began weaving in and out like a pair of scissors.

 

_He’s waiting._

 

“Wolf, how it your target.”

 

“Tough, but I can keep him busy.”

 

_Then what is he waiting – no!_

From below a P-40 was ascending to attack.  Vasily flipped over and exposed his tail to Ted, who quickly followed.

 

_Irritating, but no trouble.  I will use the trick you taught me._

 

Vasily clenched his muscles and took a breath.  His feet on the pedals prepared to fire.  The throttle prepared to choke and release and the ailerons were eager.

 

_Now!_

 

BBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!

 

A sonic boom ripped through the air scaring all the fighter pilots straight.  Swept wing monsters bolted past the scattering fighters.  From a quick glance it was a Sukhoi PAK FA.  Its swept wings and grey digital camouflage gave it a definitively modern look.  Its twin jet engines were the envy of the pilots of these old fighters.

 

“Cease you operations and return to your bases.  Cease your operations and return to your hangars,” they said in Russian then English, “Immediately!  Immediately!”

 

The advanced jets pulled along the relics.  Their pilots glared at the students and pointed demandingly away from the area.

 

“We will escort you.  Return to base immediately.”

 

Vasily nodded and turned back to headquarters.  Out of curiosity he flipped his plane to see what happened below.  A mess of thick smoke and a defaced landscape looked back up at him.  Several tanks were knocked out on both sides and the fighting only stopped because a platoon of T-90s had appeared to enforce the peace.  Like the pilots, the tankers were forced to withdraw.

 

“Report to AirCom and Tankery authorities immediately after landing.  Do not make us look for you.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Four commanders stood stiffly in a stuffy office.  The bright sun beamed through the window blanketing the panel of authority members.  Three large seats sat imposingly behind a long desk, like a court judges.  In the shadows, the commanders could make out a young woman and a middle aged man dressed in military uniform.  The third man in the centre was much older, wore an intimidating akubra, and smoked a long cigarette.  The smoke wafted from the ash tray and the smell hung on every piece of clothing and fabric.

 

“I’m going to cut to the chase,” said the uniformed man, “What the hell were you doing?  You understand that AirCom has a reputation to uphold as the sport of gentleman.  Then what went through your head to turn our sport into hooliganism.  This is a gentleman’s game.”

 

“And soccer’s a beautiful sport.  Doesn’t stop the hooligans,” said Tuskegee under his breath.

 

Vasily smirked in agreement but quickly wiped it away.

 

“I pretend I didn’t hear that but another slip and you team’s funding will suddenly evaporate.”

 

“And as for you girls,” said the uniformed woman, “I understand your rivalry runs deep but don’t you dare let that sully our sport either.  Not to mention the safety violations.  Do you have any idea how many people could have been seriously injured?  Another safety scandal is not what our sport needs.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

“I could care less about the reputations or safety,” said the smoker, “I care about our viewership.  Can you imagine how many people would watch the match if they knew than one team defeated the other with half the tanks and half the planes in a single skirmish in the afternoon?  No?  Virtually none!”

 

He pounded his fist on the table and the commanders nearly jumped.

 

“If someone, anyone had seen this and sent a single snippet of the match the Tankery and AirCom revenues would be dashed from lack of attendance.  A wasted investment from the people of St. Petersburg and I’ll have to deal with it.  The people, the mayor, the governor, all them breathing down my neck because some stupid teenagers wanted to duke ahead of schedule.  What do you have to say for yourselves?”

 

“It wasn’t our fault.  Midway bombed us first!” shouted Katyuhsa, “They’re at fault.”

 

“Bullshit,” said Kei, “You’re KV-2 opened fire first and knocked out one of my Shermans.  Pravda’s tankery team is responsible.”

 

“Liar!”

 

“Captain Franklin, did your fighter release its bombs?”

 

“Yes, but it was because Sturmovik weaved between them dangerously.  The boy panicked and tried to weave away and must’ve hit the release by accident,” Ted admitted, “But there’s no way to make an excuse for KV-2 firing.”

 

“You weren’t listening when that happened.  Nina just happened to slip and knock the gunner when they suddenly stopped.  It was accidental discharge unlike the P-40 attack,” said Katyusha.

 

“Even if they were both accidental, the IL-2s fired of their own accord.  That was deliberate,” said Ted.

 

“Yeah, and they landed every shot against us,” said Kei, “So, it’s two offenses against Pravda and _maybe_ one against Midway.”

 

“Sturmovik committed no offense!” stormed Vasily.

 

The room went silent.

 

“Commander Vasily, you wish to speak.”

 

“I do.  And unlike my comrade and counterparts I will only state the facts,” Vasily stepped forward, “I cannot tell you who fired but I can tell you that Sturmovik did not engage without reason.  Prior to encountering Saunders or Midway I gave explicit orders to fire unless fired upon.  It was only after I was blinded by the bomb that my IL-2s engage the enemy tanks.  I and my wing did not engage Midway until we assessed a real and dangerous threat.  When the P-47s began their attack we responded appropriately to deter them.”

 

“Our P-47s only engaged because your IL-2s did,” said Tuskegee.

 

“Then you are not at fault at this stage either.  The question is who fired first and I do believe it is possible to determine.”

 

“So let’s just shake hands and call it a draw then,” said Ted, “Fair?”

 

Vasily nodded, “Da.”

 

“No!” protested Katyuhsa, “Saunders’ broke the rules they should be punished.”

 

“Uh, no.  Pravda broke the rules first, they should take the hit,” said Kei, “It’s only fair.”

 

“Typical American attitude.  Say the rules don’t apply to you, beak them, and then blame someone else for you own problems and expect them to pay for it.  Sadly, for you, Pravda will not bend.  You are at fault and you should suffer the concequences.”

 

“And the little general is whining.  Just like the little kid she is,” jabbed Kei.

 

“Enough!” shouted the smoker, “All teams are at fault and will suffer the concequences.  Saunders and Pravda Women’s are to pay a fine.  Midway and Pravda Men’s are to write a formal letter of apology to the AirCom authority.  Both are restricted from using the combat ground for practice and furthermore all practices are to go through us first.  Neither team may enter the same field as the other.  And if any of you engage each other both teams will be disqualified from the tournament.  Understood?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Da.”

 

“Now get out of here.”

 

**KEI THOMPSON**

 

Kei returned to her little office in on the carrier and immediately took to slacking off.  She plopped into her comfy leather chair and leaned back as far as she could with a relaxing sigh.  A stack of papers on the desk was left neglected for another day.  A large bookcase filled with fiction, comics, and novels once had tactical texts.  Once.  A large screen TV and a radio also wanted some attention.  What to do, oh what to do. 

 

_I know.  Let’s grab a bite… or two._

 

Kei checked to make sure nobody was watching when she opened the bottom drawer.  Hidden behind the boring old tactical texts and behind a false back were bags of unhealthy snacks just for her.  Kei grabbed a handful of jerky and was about to take a savoury bite.

 

“Hey boss,” Alisa barged in with Naomi, “How’d that meeting go?”

 

“Well…” said Kei slowly closing the drawer, “How are you?”

 

“I’d be better if you give me some of that jerky,” said Alisa, “Don’t deny it.  I know its there.”

 

“Give us the news while you’re at it.”

 

Kei reluctantly shared her jerky while updating her lieutenants.  Of course she embellished every little detail to make herself look better.  And of course Alisa and Naomi took everything she said with a grain or two of salt.

 

“What a waste we can’t practice on our own anymore,” said Alisa, “At least Midway got off easier.”

 

“Let’s talk about the upcoming match,” said Naomi, “We’ve dealt with Pravda before, but the skirmish and last match shows us we have a real problem with enemy air.”

 

“Yeah.  Against Excalibur we only had to deal with a round of bombs.  Easy enough to dodge,” said Alisa, sitting on the desk, “Now we have to deal with bombs and fighters with cannons large enough to punch through.  They won’t be leaving after a single attack now.”

 

“And we can’t rely on Midway for interception,” said Naomi, “Nothing against them, but we’re asking too much.”

 

“Kei are you even listening?”

 

Kei seemed to have drifted off into her own little world.  She was leaning back into her chair and turning side to side.  Her eyes were closed and she was humming a little tune.  When Alisa poked her cheek, Kei opened one eye and smirked.

 

“No problem, I’ve already got it covered,” Kei spun the chair, “Low slow, and easy pickings.”

 

“Care to share?” asked Alisa reaching for another jerky.

 

“I won’t share my jerky,” Kei slapped Alisa’s hand, “Unless you share your balloons.”

 

Alisa’s eye widened, “You’re thinking of –“

 

“No,” said Kei bluntly, “Just no.  Are the mechs still hanging around?”

 

“Should be.”

 

“And do we still have those spare parts lying around?”

 

**NONNA CHAIKOVSKY**

 

“I can’t believe them!” shouted Katyusha, “How dare they do that to Katyusha!  Don’t they know who I am?!”

 

“I am certain their fear of the Russian Snowdrift kept them from giving us a far worse penalty,” said Nonna.

 

“Of course, but still,” Katyusha pouted in her seat.

 

The Pravda commanders returned to their office with the over extravagant furniture, portraits and flags.  Katyusha sat in her large red chair with the yellow trim and crossed her arms.  Across the long black desk, Nonna sat in a simpler leather chair.  The office was set up so that whoever sat in Nonna’s seat would be forced to look up.  But because Nonna was so tall Katyusha was so short the two ended up at eye level as equals should be.

 

“Might not have been a great practice, but we showed the Americans that Pravda will not yield so easily.”

 

“And we learned much about their air power.  Capable and quick strike fighters with an emphasis on overwhelming firepower with over eager pilots.  A shame we didn’t see their bombers however,” commented Nonna.

 

“Bombers are slow and cumbersome.  Terrifying if they are allowed to attack,” Katyusha pondered, “Contact Sturmovik and ensure their priority is the bomber force.  Now to deal with the fighter bombers we should…”

 

“Deceive, divide and conquer?” suggested Nonna, “Eager pilots will attack the first group they see.  By dividing our forces they’ll waste their bombs and most of our force will remain intact.”

 

“But we may lose most of our force as well if they’re disciplined,” said Katyusha, “But the time can work to our advantage.  Get me Vasily, I wish to speak with him.”

 

“Of course,” said Nonna dialing her mobile.

 

**TED “TUSKEGEE” FRANKLIN**

 

Midway’s captain walked up and down the hangar.  It’s cool but humid air was refreshing compared to the hot and stuffy cockpit.  His heavy footsteps clacked on the cement and echoed off the metal beams and supports.  A fond smile was on his face as he examined the great aircraft at his disposal.  In shining silver, solid green, or painted dark brown, the proud Screaming Eagle stood proudly. 

 

“They’re sure are pretty,” said Tomahawk, “But can they fight?”

 

“Heh, you tell me.  You’ve flown them just as long as I have.”

 

“They can, but winning the air doesn’t win the war.  If we load them all up with bombs and get caught it won’t be pretty.  Got any bright ideas?”

 

“The American Way?  Bomb it and bomb it and bomb it until it can’t get bombed any more.  It’s what we’re best at,” Ted jumped up on the wing, “Use the big boys to do the hard work and we’ll fly them there and back.”

 

“Takes too long doesn’t it?  To get there, reload and get back.  And if we hit the wrong group it’ll be a waste.  And the second trip ain’t gonna be easy.”

 

Ted sat on the wing and drew a map in his mind.  He could see where the flash points in the air could be but nothing on the ground.

 

“How good are your eyes?”

 

“I can tell dirty finger nails from clean but my eyes get tired easy.”

 

“Cup of coffee help?”

 

“If we keep one here in the hangar on brew, yeah.  It’ll help, but something a little flashier would be better.”

 

“Flashier huh?  Still got that rule book?”

 

“Why are you asking me?  You should have one.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Hey do me a favour, call up the team no practices tomorrow morning or afternoon.”

 

“Sure that’s smart?”

 

“Yeah, because we’re pulling an all-nighter.”

 

**VASILY “BEAR” ROMANOV**

 

The Russian Bear sat at his desk listening to the expected phone call from his counterpart.  Of course, it was not as pleasant as he had hoped but he was used to it.  As he mulled over the call, his second in command entered the office.  Artyom placed several sealed envelopes and papers on the desk.  A rather loud voice was coming through the phone and made the Bear wince.

 

“I understand.  We will make arrangements,” Vasily hug up the phone, “Are these what I asked?”

 

“Yes but –“

 

“The request has been authorized by the Authority?  And the mechanics are making the modifications?”

 

“As requested.  It will take all day but they promised it will be ready,” Artyom looked directly into Vasily’s cold eyes, “Doesn’t this violate Gentleman’s Rules?  No commander must hide himself from the enemy.”

 

“But wear his laurels proudly,” said Vasiliy, flipping through the pages, “Make no mistake, I am not hiding from the enemy.”

 

“Then why the deception?”

 

“All war is based on deception.  Concealing our numbers, striking form the sun to blind the enemy, even keeping our force composition secret.  These are done by all teams and not in violation of Gentleman’s Rules.”

 

“But isn’t this too far?”

 

“No.”

 

Artyom was speechless.  He expected a long and hard explanation.  One that would reassure him that nothing was in violation of the oath they took.  But a single word was all he got.  The Russian Bear stared at him waiting patiently for the next protest.

 

“If you’ve nothing else to say tell the wing commanders to rouse their pilots.  We fly up tonight to practice.”


	5. Chapter 5

** KEI THOMPSON **

 

A day had passed since the ‘Neva Bridge Incident’ as everyone had taken to calling it.  Since then Saunders’ team had decided to take things a little bit easier and practice in shifts instead.  Right now, Alisa was taking the company through its paces and probably unhappy that she was cooped up in a hot noisy tank while Kei was out on the town.

 

Kei was in her jean short shorts, a red white and blue themed shirt and a comfortable pair of white sneakers with ankle socks.  A wind from the Baltic swept up her hair into her face.  As she walked and tried to remove the hair from her she happened to stumble into a group of boys.

 

The group was average in every physical way.  The only thing intimidating was their 1980s retro sense of style.  Unkempt or Mohawk hair dyed brightly and with far too much crusty gel.  Black leather jackets with studs and ripped jeans.  The guy she bumped into growled and said something in Russian.

 

“Hey, sorry guys.  Didn’t mean to bump into y’all,” said Kei in her friendly fashion, “Nice jackets by the way.”

 

The group was a little baffled by Kei’s friendliness and her very distinctive Texan accent.  They gave each other some looks and had a quick conversation in Russian.  Kei, sensing no danger, just smiled and patted them on the back.

 

“Nice talkin’ to ya,” she said, passing by, “Catch you later.”

 

Kei sauntered through the group without much care.  The boys stared at her perplexed and only the words ‘Amerikanskaya’ and ‘Yanki’ could be heard loud enough to understand.  The kept their eyes on Kei and watch her walk around the corner.

 

_Nice guys._

 

On this lazy little Saturday, Kei ended up wandering into the market square where stalls of every type had been set up.  Merchants and peddlers haggles and bartered with their customers aggressively.  As Kei wandered the market and browsed through the stalls, a particular item caught her eye.  It was a medium sized wooden lacquer box painted expertly.  A bright and eagle, painted in silver and outlined in blue, soared over a vast Russian steppe with a young girl singing by the river.  The box seemed to be paired with a similarly coloured flowery shawl.  Kei ran through the crowd and right up to the stall.

 

“Hey, how much for that one?” she asked loudly.

 

“One thousand five hundred rubles,” said the blonde stall keeper, “She looks just like you.  It will suit you very well.”

 

“Uhhh… how much is that in American dollars?”

 

“American?” she smiled, “Fifty American dollars.”

 

“A little pricey ain’t it?”

 

“For this quality it is a bargain.  Authentic palek painting and high quality wood.  Feel it.  There nothing like it in America.  And it comes with this fine shawl.  Together they are perfect.  I’ll tell you what I’ll drop the price.  Let us say forty American dollars?  Does that price sound better?”

 

** VASILY “BEAR” ROMANOV **

 

“Da, that’s fine.”

 

Vasily handed over a handful of coins and bills to the merchant.  In return he was given a bag of vegetables.  Vasily crossed off several items on his little list and proceeded to the next stall. 

 

_Beef, sour cream… and that’ll be all of it._

 

Cooking for wasn’t necessary as every student was provided meals at Pravda.  However those meals were prepared by the culinary students and they were inconsistent at best, bland normally, and inedible at worst.  So to spare him an upset stomach before the big match, Vasily would take care of himself.

 

Vasily looked across the market for a small butcher and spied two.  The two stalls were set up directly across from each other and had competing signs.  The stall owners were glaring at each other as people came to browse their wares.  There were no prices on display, probably to keep the other from under cutting.  Vasily took this to advantage.

 

“How much for that?” he asked pointing to a hoc of beef.

 

“Seven hundred rubles.”

 

“Seven hundred for half a kilogram?  Pravda’s own chefs don’t pay that much for this.  No.  Four hundred,” he said sternly.

 

“You want to bankrupt me?  I’ll give you six hundred.”

 

“Five hundred, no more or I go to that other one over there.  I’ll bet he’ll give me half a kilo for five hundred.”

 

The stall keeper stared at his competition, who was grinning at his difficult task.

 

“Fine, fine, five hundred.”

 

_All too easy._

 

Satisfied with himself, Vasily continued to browse the market to gather his last items.  As he walked a familiar voice went over the crowd and a familiar head of hair pulled his eyes.

 

“How much is that in American dollars?”

 

The daft American tank commander had also made her way into the market and was haggling with a souvenir shop.   Vasily didn’t want to get noticed so he turned his back and kept walking.  As he walked he overheard the conversation.  The American commander had no idea what she was doing.  That little box was well painted but not of the quality she was led to believe.  Her ignorance of the exchange rate made it impossible to truly gauge its value.  And she seemed to be getting pulled along for the promise of a shawl as well.  As he listened he grew more and more irritated and frustrated.

 

“She will give you twenty-five American dollars for both,” said Vasily in Russian, “That is more than enough.”

 

“Hey, it’s you from the thing yesterday,” said Kei, “What are you doing?”

 

“You’re being ripped off and I couldn’t stand to watch it any further,” he snarled, “Let me handle this.”

 

“Is this for your girlfriend?” asked the souvenir seller, “I’ll give you a special price then.  Two thousand rubles.”

 

“That’s thirty five American dollars,” said Vasily in English, “No deal.  Twenty.”

 

“That’s down from your twenty five.”

 

“I thought to offer you a fair deal, but since you are less than scrupulous I had to drop for insurance.”

 

“Thirty five sounds fine to me,” said Kei, “It’s within my price range.”

 

“See even she agrees,” the seller offered a hand, “Thirty five it is.”

 

Vasily grabbed Kei’s wrist before she could shake the hand.

 

“Do you know what this is made of?”

 

“Wood?”

 

“Paper mache.”

 

“You mean the stuff they make piñatas out of?” said Kei taken aback, “Seriously?”

 

“Tougher, sterner, and will last years,” admitted Vasily, “But yes, that stuff they make piñatas out of.  Do you think that is worth thirty dollars?”

 

“No, I wouldn’t pay that,” said Kei disappointed, “A shame it’s real pretty though.”

 

“You know, you come to Pravda and they make these out of wood at the folk craft society.  I’m sure they can provide something better.”

 

“You are from Pravda?” asked the shopkeep, “You know my son?  He is the first year and trying to join navy department.”

 

“Truly,” Vasily grinned, “Give me your son’s name I will recommend him as captain of Sturmovik Squadron.  In return, you sell this for fifteen American dollars and give the shawl too.”

 

The shop keep quickly shook Vasily’s hand, “His name is Alexi Boyar first year, first class.”

 

“Alexi Boyar,” echoed Vasily, “I will remember.  And as for you American I believe you owe her fifteen dollars.”

 

Kei paid for the well-made shawl and the pretty box, assuming she got it at a very good bargain.  The lingering thought that the Russians were conspirators quickly dissipated when she saw Vasily’s face.  The Russian bear was stern as ever but he was trying to stifle a self-satisfied grin.  Kei punched Vasily in the shoulder.

 

“Hey thanks for the help back there,” said Kei.

 

“No problem,” he said softly and seriously, “No if you’ll excuse me –“

 

Kei grabbed his arm, “So where’s the best grub around here?”

 

“I don’t know.  I’m from Smolensk,” he said coldly, “Besides I cook for myself.”

 

“Oh well how about we try and find a place.  I’ll pay with my American dollars,” Kei’s smile beamed.

 

“Not interested,” Vasily wrenched his arm free, “Why are you bothering me anyway?  We are enemies.”

 

“You get along with Tuskegee,” said Kei continuing to follow, “I think we got off on the wrong foot and I want to make it right.”

 

“Not interested,” he said in Russian to shun her.

 

“Good because we are,” said a deep Russian voice.

 

“Hey it’s you guys!” said Kei.

 

That same group of boys from earlier had come up behind them with mischievous looks in their eyes.  The group surrounded the pair and placed a hand on Kei’s shoulder.  She didn’t seem to mind.

 

“Go back to wherever you were going.  We’ll take her out the town.  I promise she’ll be fine.”

 

“She doesn’t speak Russian.”

 

“She doesn’t seem to mind,” said the ringleader wrapping an arm around her, “Do you?”

 

“Nice hair,” said Kei poking at it, “Very stiff.”

 

 _She’s not my problem,_ thought Vasily, _I hate these types of people._

 

Kei was still smiling and laughing, but a little tinge to her voice stuck out.  The joyfulness of the laugh and chuckle was tainted by a short of nervousness.  And justifiably so.  The boys were inching ever closer and getting a little bit grabby.  The American brushed off their hands playfully and flipped her hair.

 

_Foolish American.  Fine. I’ll deal with them._

 

“I suggest you back off,” said Vasily sternly with a steely quality in his glare, “I am from Pravda and our personal security detachment will not be pleased that you harassed one if its students.”

 

“We’re not harassing anyone.  This isn’t your business.”

 

“She part of tankery and thus my business.  If you don’t want to find yourself in jail you should leave.  And I am not above getting physical if needed.”

 

“You against all of us.”

 

Vasily smirked, “I’ve dodged bullets.  Fist and foot is nothing to me.”

 

“BORING!” exclaimed Kei.

 

Kei’s loud voice made everyone jump and shut up.  The American pushed through the crowd with her eyes half closed, a straight mouth, and slightly slumped.  Just a bored and unentertained look.  Vasily followed her closely.

 

“Pick up the pace,” he ordered.

 

“Oh please,” scoffed Kei, “I thought they were tough and scary, interesting especially after everything I heard about all you Russians.  But no.  They’re nothing like the boys back in Texas.”

 

“Cyka blyat!” cursed the ringleader.

 

Kei turned around and the pack descended on her. Vasily took a half step back and his muscled tensed.  His eyes darted around examining everything in a split second.  Two behind him, one to his side and the ring leader to the front.  One had a hand in his pocket, the others arms crossed.  Kei was at his two o’clock and blocking an angle.

 

_The one behind will come first.  I’ll go after the one beside him.  Kei will be grabbed but she can wait until a third takes a fall._

 

Vasily shifted his bag of food inconspicuously to test the weight.  The gang was too busy shouting and yelling at Kei and demanding she go with them.  She just stood there with the same bored look on her face.

 

_Not much but a kilogram is a kilogram.  It’ll hurt to the head._

 

SLAP!

 

Kei smacked away a hand that dared to encroach on her shoulder.  Her eyes narrowed and for the first time she frowned.  Her warm blue eyes turned cold and icy like Siberia. 

 

“Go away,” she said angrily, “Or I’ll show you how we dance in Texas.”

 

“What?” asked the ringleader.

 

_Damn it all._

 

Vasily swung his bag around and smacked it against a temple.  The hard meat mushed against the skull and the vegetables cracked then flew around them.  A black jacket dazed and stumbled to the ground.  He quickly followed with a hard kick to the groin.  Another jacket fell down.  He turned to face the third only to have his jaw bashed.  An uppercut caught him square.  His teeth clamped shut, nearly biting his tongue.  His head spun and he stumbled back.

 

Vasily raised his fists and shelled while he waited for his bearings to recover.  Falling back on pilot’s instinct he bobbed and weaved to try and confuse the enemy.

 

“Oh come on.  Is that all you got?”

 

Kei’s taunting voice rang out loud and clear in American English.  Her strong Texan accent overpowered the Russian profanity.  And whenever an insult flew at her she just laughed it off out of ignorance, and asked them to say it again. 

 

When Vasily’s vision returned, Kei had one arm wrapped around a neck and the other was elbowing someone behind her.  A twist and a shove and her grappled partner was sent flying into the boys around Vasily.  Without missing a Texas two-step, Kei pummelled the man she was elbowing, knocked down another and began stomping mercilessly on everyone on the ground.  The she picked a pair of them up and threw them over her hip, and sat on them like a wild hog.  Within moments everybody that went against this rowdy American had black eyes and more bruises than you could count.  Satisfied, Kei put her hands on her hips and grinned.

 

The boys, with whatever strength they had left, crawled away with their tails between their legs.

 

“That’s how we fight in Texas,” she said.

 

Needless to say, Vasily was left gobsmacked and slack jawed.  He was ready for a long and hard fight, but within minutes Kei made them all crawl away.  Even more astonishing was that Vasily had a few bruises and took a few hits, but Kei was fresh as a flower.

 

“They said you Ruskies were tough, but that was boring,” said Kei, “What are you starin’ at?  Is something on my face?”

 

“I – it’s – how – where did you learn to do that?”

 

“Learn to do what?  Fight?” Kei shrugged, “We did that all the time back home with friends and family out on the ranch.  Just somethin’ we did.  So what’s for lunch?  Dinner?  That’s why you were out here right?”

 

Kei looked behind Vasily.  Celery and carrots were broken in half and scattered on the dirty stone ground.  Potatoes were in one piece and dirty as well, not much a difference.  The meat he managed to haggle was spoiled and trampled, tenderized perhaps, but ruined.

 

“Aw, damn it,” Kei sighed, “I’m real sorry about that.”

 

Vasily sighed in resignation, “Not a problem.  I will just go back to the school and partake in the culinary departments concoctions.”

 

“Well if you’re going to do that,” Kei smirked, “Then you might as well eat American.”

 

Kei grabbed Vasily’s right arm and started pulling him away.  He tried to pull back but she was far stronger this time.  He tried to plant his feet and pull back, but she just kept pulling him along. 

 

“Since you have no idea where the best grub is here, I might as well show you the best grub back on Saunders.  You’ll love it!”

 

“I hate American food,” he protested.

 

“That’s fine, we’ve got everything on Saunders and in America.  That’s the beauty of America, get anything, get everything, whenever you want.”

 

“America, the land of the glutton,” he said under his breath.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

** NONNA “SNOWDRIFT” CHAYKOVSKY **

 

Katyusha had seen no reason to burden all of Pravda with senseless practice.  So she devised a little scheme to award time off.  A simple lottery where names were drawn out of a hat.  A hat held by the most trusted Nonna.  Loyal to her commander Nonna pulled the names as instructed and just so happened she pulled herself, but not Katyusha.

 

The Little General was unhappny and pouted a little bit but she had to accept it.  It wasn’t as though Nonna went through the names, pulling out Katyusha’s multiple entries and discarding them.  Of course not.  She was the most trusted Nonna and would never to that.

 

_She needs the practice.  I wish I could be with her though._

 

“Nonna!  Nonna!”

 

A small hand tugged on Nonna’s long light blue sleeve.  Big hazel eyes with the light of youth looked up at her through a tangle of braided brown hair.  The little girl was about the same size as Katyusha but had a warmer air around her.  The girl wore a pink t-shirt with one of those silly TV mascots, a pair of darker trousers, and red sneakers.

 

_But this is fine as well._

 

Nonna knelt down and patted her on the head.

 

“What is it, myshka?” smiled Nonna, “See something you want?”

 

“I’m not a little mouse, big sis.  Call me Lisa, like you should.  My name means fox NOT little mouse!” she pouted, “I’m a fox, not a mouse.”

 

“Okay I won’t call you myshka anymore,” Nonna tussled Lisa’s hair, “What is it you needed?”

 

Lisa pointed to a busy little shop across the street.  It was the typical sweets shop with a little bit of everything.  Russian sweets filled the windows with a few of the more popular Western European treats obscured behind the shelves.  A large sign at the front said everything was up to half off today.

 

“Not now, Lisa.  It will spoil your dinner.  Perhaps, before I leave I will make you some myself,” said Nonna.

 

“Okay…”

 

Nonna was taking her sister to a Leningrad Zoo.  It had been a long time since they were last together, only re-uniting during the end of the Pravda school year.  The zoo was something they had always wanted to do, but Nonna and Lisa never seemed to be in St. Petersburg at the same time.  Until today that is. 

 

“How is mother and father?” asked Nonna as she paid the admission.

 

“Okay,” said Lisa, “They said to say ‘hello’ and ask if you’re eating well.  Oh, and if you were still at the top of your class, and that you were eating right.  And to ask –“

 

“They still worry even though I’m eighteen,” Nonna grinned gently, “All is well.  You can tell them that.”

 

“Okay.  Can we see the polar bears first?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Nonna took her sister by the hand and together they walked toward the artic exhibit.  The zoo seemed especially busy today.  The paths were cramped with strollers and families.  A few schools had planned field trips and the haggard teachers were trying to corral their students.  Protectively, Nonna pulled Lisa closer as they waded through the thick crowd.  When they arrived at the polar bear exhibit a large crowd was blocking the window.  Bright flashes from phones and cameras reflected off the glass. Through the sounds of awing patrons was the sound of splashing and some growling.  Nonna was taller than the crowd but could only spot a polar bear head here and there.

 

“What’s going on?” Nonna asked.

 

“The zoo keepers are playing with the bears.  They’re making them do tricks and things for food.”

 

Little Lisa was desperate to see the cute tricks and tried to push her way through the crowd.  Her small body could get through the legs and bodies, but Nonna couldn’t.  She tried to push through, but all that happened was the crowd pushed back.

 

“Don’t let go, Lisa,” said Nonna seriously, “You’ll get lost.”

 

“But I can’t see!” she complained, “I want to see.  I’m too small.”

 

_Too small._

 

Nonna grinned and picked up her little sister.  She placed her upon her shoulders and held her legs. 

 

“Now you are taller than everyone else here,” she said with a practiced tone, “Can you see now?”

 

“YEAH!”

 

Lisa held on to her big sister as she watched the majestic bears.  The large white furred bears jumped into the water performing backstrokes and frolicking while eagerly waiting for a piece of chow.  Zookeepers petted and played with the bears in a friendly fashion from a bond formed over years. Little Lisa’s eyes glittered and shimmered at the sight.  She cooed and purred at the sights.  Nonna looked up and got a warm feeling from her sister’s enjoyment.

 

 _I wonder if Katyusha would be the same,_ thought Nonna imagining the childish general.

 

After the bears, the sisters continued to tour the exhibits.  Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.  Leopards and lynxes, and cougars and more.  With each animal Lisa’s smile grew wider and wider.  Nonna’s little sister spend every moment on her shoulders and Nonna didn’t even feel tired. 

 

“Do you want something to eat?” asked Nonna, “A little snack?”

 

Lisa nodded and pointed to a snack shop, then looked over to another bunch of animals.

 

“Something small then,” said Nonna putting her sister down, “Now hold on tight.”

 

After a few minutes they were at the front of the shop.  Nonna ordered some cheap food to tide them over.  She reached for her wallet and counted the cash. 

 

“Here Lisa, take yours and –“

 

Nonna’s heart stopped and she stopped breathing.  She dropped whatever she was holding.  A million thoughts ran through her mind in a split second.  She spun around and searched the area, then blinked thinking she missed something.  There was no denying it.  Lisa had left her side and had disappeared.

 

** TED “TUSKEGEE” FRANKLIN **

 

Midway’s Screaming Eagles had a mandate to adjust their sleep schedules before every match.  It wasn’t because the school sailed around the world regularly, but because match times were chosen by municipality.  Rounds could be early in the morning before the sun even thinks of coming up, or late into the night when the moon is full, or at any other hour of the day.  And when flying, being tired was dangerous to your teammates as much as yourself.

 

But Ted couldn’t sleep.  He tried a bit of everything, warm glass of milk, exercise to tire out, those sorts of things but nothing seemed to work.  So, rather than lay about the ship Ted took to the tourist experience and wandered around St. Petersburg.  His sightseeing tour took him around the city and now he was wandering around the Leningrad Zoo.

 

He had passed through the main plaza and saw the main attractions.  Siberian tigers, lions, and bears, and all the exotic animals brought from afar.  All he could have seen at home, but there was something about seeing it in another country and the people in the area.  The air was distinctly not American and he liked it. 

 

With cheap phrase book in hand he started, well trying to, talk to the locals.  His Russian was broken, and the people were slightly annoyed with how long it took him to make a sentence, but they appreciated the effort and humoured him.

 

“Is there a place to eat here?” he asked in broken Russian.

 

A child nodded and pointed down a path.

 

“Spasibo,” he said with a grin.

 

“Pazhaluysta.”

 

The line wasn’t even a queue at the food stand.  It was more mass of people who instinctively knew who arrived before and after them.  After waiting an uncomfortable amount of time and shoving through on occasion Ted managed to snag a little Russian snack of French fries and a hot dog.  It was made in Russia therefore Russian.

 

 _Ah, a chance to a take a break,_ Ted sighed.

 

Ted rubbed his sore legs and stretched them out as far as he could.  Being stuffed into a cockpit for days on end made his legs stiff and hard.  And since he didn’t fly with his feet, they were weaker than usual.

 

_Maybe I should take up running like Johnny._

 

As he relaxed and basked in the sunny breezes his mind started to wander to the coming match.

 

_Our strength is our bombers, but we can’t get bombs on target.  We’ll have to use our strike fighters, but bombs make us slow.  Russian planes are more maneuverable, and faster unladen.  We’ll get shot up easy.  I could put half to escort and half to bomb, but tanks are hard to hit.  We might not get enough of them._

 

“Rastsvetali iabloni i grushi, poplyli tumany nad rekoj,” sang a little bird’s voice.

 

_And then there’s the time.  We might get two east strikes in but after, we might be no use at all._

 

“Vykodila na bereg Katyusha, na wysokij bereg na krutoj…”

 

Ted closed his eyes and put his head back with a sigh.  As he continued to plan and debate in his head the song slowly wormed its way into his mind.  His thoughts started to skip to the melody then his head started to bob.  His foot began tapping and inevitably he began to hum along.

 

_Then maybe we should… something, something, music, something, something complete._

 

Ted groaned, “I lost the train of thought.  Oh well, maybe another bite will –  Hello there.“

 

A little girl with hazel and eyes and braided brown hair was starting at him.  Or more accurately his hearty serving of fries and long hot dog. 

 

“Want some?” Ted asked harmlessly (in English), offering a potato, “But you know you shouldn’t take things from strangers.”

 

The girl reached out then stopped.

 

“Smart,” Ted put the fries on his lap.

 

The girl tilted her head and stared curiously at the American on the bench.  She pressed a finger to her lips and just kept staring.

 

“Heh, heh, something on my face?  Or I just look scary,” Ted pulled a scarily funny face.

 

The girl held back a grin and just kept looking.

 

“Hmm… Tuskegee,” Ted pressed a thumb to his chest, “Tuskegee.”

 

“Tuskegee?” said the girl, her eyes widened, “Yankee!”

 

_Well she’s half right._

 

“Nyet, nyet, nyet.  Tuskegee.  Tus.  Kee.  Gee.  Tuskegee.  Try it again.”  


 

“Yankee!  Yang!  Kee!  Yankee!” laughed the girl, pointing her finger, “Yankee!  Yankee!”

 

“Lisa!  Lisa!  Lisa!  Gde ty, Lisa?!  Gde ty?!”

 

Ted started laughing nervously as the people around him started staring.  The little girl kept laughing and pointing, then she started skipping and prancing around him.  All around whispers and mutterings erupted between the people.  He couldn’t pick up the exact words but the cold expressions, and glaring eyes clearly showed that they didn’t think his relationship with the child was a positive one.

 

“Lisa!  Lisa!  Lisa!  Gde ty, Lisa?!  Gde ty?!”

  
“Hey, hey, hey!  Calm down, okay?  Yeah, yeah I’m from the States.  It’s not a big deal,” said Tuskegee reaching for her, “Just calm down.  People are staring.”

 

Ted grabbed her arm with a strong grip and pulled her in.  His food spilled with a splat on the black ground.  The little girl yelped and kicked back.  Her playful shouts were turning in to screams of horror.  The little girl kicked and trashed against Ted, but he was stronger and tried to keep her still.  In a panic he covered her mouth to stifle the screaming. 

 

_Oh shit, this was a bad idea._

 

Now the people were certain this was wrong.  A few ran off to grab a security official, others came forward to apprehend the American.  Within moments a uniformed officer appeared with a hard face and unrelenting grey eyes.  He wore a black hat with a red band and his thck jacket matched.  A night stick hung on the hip, and an eager hand fondled the handle.

 

The officer growled and barked at the American, demanding that Ted understand the spoken Russian. 

 

“It’s not what it looks like!  It’s not what it looks like!” protested Ted, releasing the girl, “Uh… how do you say that in Russian.”

 

“Eto ne to, na chto eto pokhozhe,” said a cold woman’s voice, “On so mnoy.”

 

Nonna walked through the crowd without any interruption, floating with every step like she was a winter ghost.  Nonna grabber her sister firmly by the wrist and put themselves between the officer and Tuskegee.  She slowly and confidently explained the situation then pushed her sister to the front.  After a light smack on the back of the head, little Lisa started spewing a long and fast apology.

 

The officer, ever suspicious, started questioning Nonna.  Ted wanted to jump in and try to help explain, but after looking around he figured he would only make it worse.  A few minutes and several long questions later the office finally agreed and dispersed the crowd. 

 

“Thank God you were here,” said Ted, “So you know.  Umm… spasibo.”

 

Nonna walked right up to him and stared him straight in the eye.

 

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on my sister again.  Understood?”

 

“Yeah, I get it.  But I meant no harm.  I just wanted her to stop.”

 

Nonna nodded then pulled her sister in front of her.

 

“As for you Lisa, you made trouble for him.  Apologize,” said Nonna in Russian.

 

Nonna leaned down and whispered into Lisa’s ear.

 

“I’m sorry for causing you trouble,” said Lisa in heavily accented English.

 

Ted smiled and knelt down to meet Lisa at eye level.  He looked up at Nonna for silent approval.  She nodded without changing her expression. 

 

“It’s alright.  No harm done,” said Ted, petting her head, “You still hungry?”

 

Lisa looked at him in confusion.

 

“She doesn’t speak English,” said Nonna, “Lisa, he’s asking if you are still hungry.”

 

“Da!” she said eagerly.

 

“Well my fries and hotdog are no good,” said Ted looking at the mess on the ground, “Come on I’ll get something at the stand.”

 

“I cannot allow that,” said Nonna, “Even if you are kind enough to offer, Lisa made you lose your food.  It is only right I pay it back.”

 

Nonna reached for her wallet.  Ted stepped forward and put his hand on hers.  He had a disarming smirk, but his eyes were stern and serious.    


“Thanks, but I got this.  Besides, what kind of man would I be if a pretty girl paid for me,” said Ted.

 

_Damn that was corny._

 

“I see, that it would hurt your pride,” said Nonna looking away, “Perhaps I can permit it, provided you allow Pravda to pay you back later.”

 

“Sounds good to me.  So, I know what I want.  I can guess what she wants.  What would you like?”

 

“For me as well?”

 

“What kind of man would I be if I only bought for two?  Unless you’d like to share that is.”

 

_God that was even cornier than the last._

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**KEI AND VASILY**

****

The unlikely pair arrived at the Saunders carrier just in time to catch the massive rush for food.  Hundreds of Saunders citizens and students filled the streets and rushed into the restaurants and fast food joints to grab a bite to eat.  Delivery cars scurried about the streets with boxes upon boxes of foods.  Oddly, very few Americans took advantage of the shore leave to take lunch in St. Petersburg.  The proximity of what is familiar was too alluring.

 

“So what’d ya feel like havin’?” asked Kei, “Like I said we got a bit of everything.  Mexican over there, American over here, Italian, French, I don’t know what that one is over there but it looks good.  Oh, shawarma, you ever had shawarma?”

 

 “I’m not too concerned with what we eat, but it doesn’t look like we’ll get anywhere here,” said Vasily, “It’s like the ration lines in Soviet Russia.”

 

“Yeah but there’s no shortage,” teased Kei, “I know let’s head to my school.  I’m sure the cooking club or whatever has something we can grab.  Or they can make something for us!”

 

“The culinary club, a collection of arrogant amateurs that try to pass off subpar cheap ingredients as gourmet food,” said Vasily under his breath, “But it’s too far to turn back now.”

 

“What was that?” asked Kei.

 

“Nothing.”

 

 _I am in the wolf’s den.  A dangerous place, but there is opportunity.  Perhaps I can steer her to the hangars and garages to glance at their lineup. But how?_ thought Vasily.

“So feeling anything in particular?” asked Kei, pulling out her phone, “I’m thinking Vietnamese myself.”

 

“I… will have… what you are having,” said Vasily unsure.

 

“Texas barbecue it is!” cheered Kei.

 

“I thought you wanted Vietnamese.”

 

“I changed my mind.  Isn’t it more exciting when that happens?”

 

“I think you’re just crazy,” said Vasily taking a step back, “So where is this place to get this Texas barbecue?”

 

“I’m calling for delivery,” Kei took Vasily’s hand, “Come on, we’ll eat at my place.”

 

“Your place?  I don’t think that’s wise, and before you suggest that I am cowardly and have not been to a woman’s room, I assure you that is not the case.”

 

Kei looked Vasily up and down, “I know you’ve been to a girl’s room.  But if you don’t want to go to mine, then where do you suggest?”

 

 _She seems to like the daring, so I’ll be direct,_ thought Vasily.

 

“How about your garages where the tanks are.”

 

“Oh so you’re really adventurous.  Nobody’s gonna see us in there,” Kei winked, “Is that what you were thinking?”

 

Vasily was taken aback, “O-of course not.”

 

 _Are all Americans like this?_ He wondered worriedly.

 

Kei jabbed his gut, “I’m just pulling your leg.  You want to spy on us right?”

 

The blood drained from Vasily’s face making it pale as new fallen snow.  His heart stopped for a long moment then sped up faster than a roaring plane’s engine.  He opened his mouth to object, but the words refused to come out.  Now here he was in enemy territory, surrounded by Saunders tankers and in the company of a rough and tumble commander with no real way to escape.  Vasily just stood gawking and frightened, without a thought in his mind.

 

Kei burst out laughing and holding her gut.

 

“Oh God you should see your face.  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!” Kei gasped for air, “Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh.  Oh… I’m just messing with you.  It’s so easy to.  I know you wouldn’t do that, against Gentleman’s Rules and such, right?  Right?”

 

“Yes, it is completely against Gentleman’s Rules.  How dare you insult my integrity,” said Vasily with serious bravado.

 

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that,” said Kei earnestly, “Really I am.”

 

“All is forgiven.  Now shall we get going?”

 

“Stomach growling?  Mine is,” Kei grabbed Vasily’s hand, “Let’s go!”

 

Kei took Vasily through the clean campus past all of the rooms and students.  In his Pravda uniform Vasily expected to get suspicious and hostile looks, but every student they passed seemed to be keenly friendly or at the very least disinterested.  Vasily reflected on the visitors to Pravda.  Each one had to be registered, given a pass, and accompanied at all times.  Not to mention there were places people were not allowed to visit such as the hangars or the lower decks. 

 

Actually, given the situation, Vasily was made to appear like a little creeper spying the girls up and down and around.  This little spot of silliness didn’t elude Kei.  The brusque Texan quickly and suggestively elbowed Vasily and smirked slyly at him.  The thick Russian didn’t understand what she was subtly implying until it was spelled out to him, rather loudly.  His face turned red and he started to avert his eyes.

 

“Yo, Kei!  We got your text,” said Naomi.

 

Alisa opened her wallet, “How much do we owe you?”

 

Kei’s lieutenants were waiting by a jeep near the garages.  They had their tankey uniform jackets but everything else was nice and casual.  Vasily met their eyes and a cold shiver ran down his spine.  Kei may be more relaxed but her comrades seemed far more serious.  Naomi’s eyes fixed on to him like she was lining up her next lethal shot.  Alisa gave him a cold side glance.  The single quick glance felt like an invasive scan, revealing all his little secrets.

 

“So, Vasily, did she drag you here or did you want to come?” asked Alisa, “You can be honest, but I think I know the answer.”

 

“It is both and more a matter of collection,” said Vasily, “Your commander had caused me to waste some funds.  She offered to compensate with food.  I insisted that a meal anywhere in the city would suffice, but she brought me here.”

 

“Sure you’re not here to spy on us?” said Naomi directly.

 

“I was invited,” insisted Vasily, “I would appreciate if you stopped stereotyping me as one of your American movie villains.”

 

Naomi smiled, “Got another one.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Naomi get her kicks from setting boys off.  What was the last one?  The one you pretended to flirt with?” asked Alisa.

 

“Johnny!” exclaimed Kei, “Johnny Walker that was him.  You know Johnny?”

 

“Of course I know him.  I’m not sure why you take pride in irritating him.  It is not difficult, but good for you I suppose.  Now are we going to continue loitering or are we actually going to eat something?”

 

As if by command a delivery girl on a push bike rounded the corner with a large white box.  An ocean breeze carried the smell of succulent food toward them, making their mouths water. 

 

“I’ve got an order here for a Kei Thompson.  Which one of you is Kei Thompson?”

 

Kei jumped and raised her hand, “I am!  Here you go, and keep the change.”

 

Every took a Styrofoam box with sauce oozing out the side.  The girls licked their fingers while Vasily disgustedly wiped the gooey fluid on his trousers (like any man would do).  Kei signalled with her head and the group entered the main garage. 

 

Vasily immediately took inventory of everything inside.  Along one side of the garage was the standard 75mm Sherman and across were their larger 76mm brothers.  These tanks were obvious but which ones would be taking the field?  From the distance he examined the tracks and barrels to signs of dirt, much, powder, wear and tear, anything that said it was used today.  He also kept his eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. 

 

“Ain’t cha hungry?” asked Kei, “You ain’t even opened your box yet.”

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

Vasily opened his lunch.  The strong smoky smell of brisket on a large bun assaulted his nose with the tangy smell of barbecue sauce.  A hearty potato salad was on the side with a large pickle.  A cold feeling kissed the back of Vasily’s neck.  Kei smiled and magically produced a can of ice cold soda.  Where she got it from was a mystery that has yet to be solved.  According to her however, Saunders has everything and it could be gotten anywhere.

 

“Not to your liking?” asked Kei.

 

“It is not that,” said Vasily grabbing the sandwich, the sauce dripping down, “I am just trying to find the best place to bite.”

 

“That problem has bothered me more times than you know,” Kei examined his sandwich.

 

Vasily pretended to search for the perfect bite spot, but he was actually looking around the garage.  Across the garage, the mechanics were also having lunch.  Their uniforms were covered in grease and oil.  Dust and dirt covered their faces and their tool belts were close by.  They crew sat near a large covered crate.  A pile of wires and cables were wound around the wall near several unlabelled gas tanks.

 

“Routine maintenance,” said Alisa, “Got to get ready for the match.  And that box, just spare parts, nothing out of the ordinary.”

 

_She’s on to me._

 

Vasily turned his gaze and took a large bite of his brisket sandwich.  The girls tried to chat him up with questions about Russia, his hobbies, what he did for fun, what he thought of the girls at Pravda.  Ever on guard, Vasily chose his words very carefully.  At every question he expected a lengthy interrogation, but it never came.  Still it could just be a ruse to get his guard down and confuse him.  Vasily had to keep vigilant.

 

“What do you think of your first taste of Texas barbecue?” asked Naomi.

 

“It nice and smoky, but I expected well, a barbecue.”

 

“Well this ain’t a real Texas barbecue,” said Kei, “I tell you what, when the match is over you mosey on back here and we’ll have a _real_ good ol’ Texas BBQ with all the American fixins.”

 

“Come all the way to Russia and you still want American food,” muttered Vasily under his breath.

 

“Then bring some Russian stuff when you come by,” said Alisa, “I’m going to grab some more drinks.  Anybody want a re-fill?”

 

Everyone raised their hand.

 

“I’ll go in your stead,” said Vasily, sensing an opportunity.

 

“Alright,” said Kei, “Vending machine is two buildings down that way and around the corner.  Here’s some cash.  Keep the change.”

 

Vasily quickly ran some math in his head and pushed a handful of rubles into Kei’s hand.

 

“I insist,” he said unyielding.

 

With a pocket full of shiny coins, Vasily walked out of the garage.  When he was clear and around the wall the girls gave each other serious looks.

 

“Think he’ll find it?” asked Naomi.

 

“Guy like him definitely will,” said Alisa, “Kei why’d you bring him here?”  


“So we could keep an eye on him of course,” she grinned, “Alisa, you know what to do.”

 

“Yeah,” Alisa dusted off her skirt, “Don’t eat my fries.”

 

“No promises.”

 

Vasily passed the second building quickly with light, near silent footsteps.  Several members of the mechanical team passed by from the opposite corner.  The little group mentioned they would be working all night to get the tanks up and running for the match and that the team.  Naturally he went to investigate.  Vasily stepped into a shadow and pressed up against a wall.  He peeked around the corner and spied several trucks parked at a stock pile.  Several boxes had been stacked at the end with a manifest left on top.  There didn’t seem to be anyone around and the vehicles weren’t idling.  Now was as good a chance as any.

 

Vasily ran across the path and grabbed the manifest.  It was a jumble of letters and numbers written in terrible chicken scratches.  He tossed the manifest aside and determined to open the box instead.  It was unlocked so he just lifted the lid and peeked inside.

 

_Inconceivable._

 

Inside was a bunch of junk.  Hoses, nuts, bolts, sparkplugs, filters.  Not a single bullet or shell, no new armour or strange devices.

 

“Got a little lost?”

 

Vasily stood up straight and nearly jumped out of his shoes.  His quick beating heart jumped into his throat and dropped straight back in to his stomach.  He turned around slowly, placing the cover back in place.  Alisa was standing right behind him her hands on her hips and a looking down her nose with a sinister smile.  Alisa walked toward him.  He wanted to run, he could run, but his legs were rooted to the spot.  His hands threatened to shake so he crossed his arms.  Alisa stopped right in front of him, nearly nose to nose.  They stared at each other for what seemed like several long drawn out minutes.  Then she grabbed his arm and pulled.

 

“You took a wrong turn,” she said leading him back, “It’s the building on the other side she meant.”

 

“I see,” said Vasily playing along, “That explains why there was no machine here.”

 

“Yeah, but did you find anything interesting?”

 

“Not at all,” said Vasily subtly looking back at the truck.

 

With an armful of drinks the pair returned and finished off their lunch.  Afterward Kei volunteered to take Vasily back and asked to be shown around his school.  To return the favour of course.  Ever cautious and wary of spies, Vasily politely but sternly declined.  Still Kei walked him home. 

 

“How close was it?” asked Naomi, watching the trucks finish unloading.

 

“We’re lucky the teamsters were late and lazy,” Alisa opened the box of parts, “He only saw this one.  He’s probably still suspicious but none the wiser.”

 

Naomi opened a new box and looked inside, “The other stuff you’ve put away right?”

 

“Yeah and we weren’t supposed to take it out again, ever.  But I guess we’re not using it for that so it’s fine.”

 

“Make sure you don’t use it for that again.”

 

“How about you?  Think you can hit those flyers?”

 

“I know I can, question is can you and Kei?”

 

**NONNA AND TUSKEGEE**

 

The unlikely trio left the zoo some time ago and were now wandering around the city.  Little Lisa was ever the little troublemaker as she inquisitively and annoyingly had to investigate every attraction and oddity.  She mimicked a local mime, tried to juggle fruit from a stand, and poked a dancing monkey in the square.  Ted tended to encourage her curiosity by prodding her to go through with it or even take the initiative and start at it himself.  Nonna however was a strict disciplinarian.  After all the goofing and tomfoolery Nonna quickly put her sister in front of the affected and apologized.  Many were good spirited and took in humour, but there were others that asked for ‘compensation for their services’.

 

“Why must you encourage her,” said Nonna to Ted, “If she continued she will become a very loud delinquent.”

 

“She’s a kid, let her be a kid and have all the fun she wants.  Besides nobody was bothered by it,” said Ted, “I bet you were like her when you were younger, right?”

 

Nonna turned away and huffed, “Not at all.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Ted said snidely.

 

Lisa tugged on Nonna’s sleeve.  Nonna the elder sister attentively picked Lisa up and put Lisa on her shoulders. 

 

“Where do you want to go now?” Nonna asked Lisa.

 

“Umm… Pravda!”

 

“Pravda?” said Ted recognizing the word, “She wants to go to your school?”

 

“Why would you want to go to my school?  There’s not much there.”

 

“But I want to see your school.  I’ve never seen it and I want to see the tanks.  Your tank.”

 

“But I don’t want to show you the tanks,” muttered Nonna in English, “And meeting her would make things insufferable.”

 

“How about some planes?” suggested Ted, “You want to go flying?”

 

Nonna translated, hoping she should agree. 

 

“Nyet!  I want to see your school and the tanks!”

 

Lisa started to rock back and forth to try and sway Nonna, literally, into seeing her way.  Nonna however was used to this and kept straight and sturdy as an oak.  Lisa, like any little sister, found other ways to annoy her elder.  Lisa started to play with her hair, swing her feet, and hum very loudly as they continued with their walk.  Even the Blizzard has limits.  It took a hell of a long time, but Nonna cracked like fragile ice.

 

“Fine we’ll go,” relented Nonna, taking Lisa off her shoulders, “But you’re going to walk.”

 

“Okay,” said Lisa, letting her sister take the lead.

 

Lisa turned to face Ted and stretched out her hand demandingly.  Ted checked to make sure Nonna wasn’t looking.  He reached into his jacket and pulled out a handful of American sweets.  Lisa smiled and hid the sweets in her pockets.  She stretched out her hand again demanding more.

 

“More, or I’ll tell Nonna.”

 

“Tough bargainer,” said Ted in Russian, relinquishing another sweet, “Here you go.  Good work.”

 

It was a long walk back to the port and an even longer wait to clear Ted and Lisa and allow them on the ship.  After going through the checks and through the dark interior of the ship, the party arrived on the deck.  They emerged from a staircase cleverly disguised as a subway station and walked onto a pristine and clean stone square.  In the centre of the square was a large bronze statue of two young girls.  They stood proudly with arms stretched out toward the heavens.  One clutched a pair of scissors, the other held a small steel square.  On a plaque was an engraving of the school ship and a long

 

“Oh now, I get it,” said Ted.

 

“Chto?” asked Lisa.

 

“He’s referring to the statue at Pravda Men’s.  They also have a statue, but they hold the T-square and large steel square.  Together they form our school emblem,” explained Nonna. 

 

To the fore of the square was the administrative building, serving for both the school and the city.  The massive palatial building was taller than any other around.  Large swirling striped domes capped the red stone towers.  The grand building was surrounded by walls and old fortifications.  Members of the Student Public Orders Committee stood on guard at the entrances in little sentry boxes.  Several adults walked through the doors and in the windows they were scare seen beyond the thick red curtains.  This must’ve been the town hall and administrative building.

 

Across the square from the palace was a deep, dark red building with grey roofs.  Four old style towers stood at each corner of the long structure.  Atop the towers gilded double headed eagles perched, clasping an orb and sceptre in its talons.  Victorian windows were measured and placed along the walls.  Large wooden door stood at the front of the grand structure with students tricking in and out of the mouth.  A perfectly manicured lawn grew around the building interrupted only by four stone paths marked with a soldier’s statue.  The building served as the elite classroom for the advanced students, and the headquarters for the student council and clubs. 

 

Several other buildings surrounded the plaza.  All of them were made in shades of red and beige, with roofs of green and white.  All in all it was picturesque copy of Moscow’s Red Square. 

 

“Nonna!” called out a small voice, “Who is that with you?”

 

A long shadow was cast across the square.  The silhouette seemed to be six feet tall.  Its arms were on its hips.  Evil eyes glittered in the shadow, staring down Nonna.  Dressed in a dark green uniform, emblazoned with ribbons and medals was none other than the fearsome Katyusha, who stood at an intimidating four feet, two inches.

 

“Nonna, who is that?”

 

“This is Ted Franklin of Midway College High,” said Nonna, “You’ve met him before.”

 

“Not him.  Her,” said Katyusha completely disinterested.

 

Lisa hid behind Nonna like a frightened little dog.  It seemed strange though, since little Lisa was taller at five foot flat. 

 

“This is my little sister, Lisa.  She has come to visit today.”

 

“She’s bigger than me,” Katyusha tried to hide her frown and pout, “Hmph, well if she wants to visit she can.”

 

“Wonderful.  She said she wanted to see the great Pravda tankery team and most of all the great commander Katyusha.  She wants to join the school and be just like you.”

 

“Really?” asked Ted in a low hush.

 

“No I don –“

 

Nonna yanked on Lisa’s hair.

 

“Isn’t that right, Lisa.  You want to be just like her when you go to Pravda.”

 

Nonna’s eyes froze Lisa’s soul.  A shiver ran down Ted’s spine.  Lisa looked back at Ted, trying to find an ally.  All Ted could do was nod and subtly suggest playing along.

 

“Yeah, I want to be just like the famous Katyusha!” said Lisa with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

 

“Well, that’s what everyone at Pravda wished.  There can only be one Great Katyusha however, but perhaps you can come close,” Katyusha beamed, “Come with me and I’ll show you all the tanks we use.”

 

Nonna nearly gasped, “I think Lisa would rather tour the campus than look at our tanks.”

 

Nonna quickly glanced at the American pilot.  He didn’t seem like a clever spy, or harboured any real ill intent, but one could never be sure.  The slightest sight could give much away and with the loud mouth commander entire battalions could be lost. 

 

“Nonsense!  Anyone that wants to be like Katyusha will be part of tankery!” Katyusha declared, “Come, I’ll show you all the great armoured tanks at Pravda.  I might even let you drive one.”

 

Nonna immediately glared at Ted, gauging his reaction.  Ted knowingly returned a coy look.  Nonna’s cold stare melted away harmlessly against his warm expression. 

 

“What about him?” Nonna said directly, “He’s our opponent.”

 

“I’m not a problem,” said Ted turning out his pockets, “See no microfilm, no camera, no microphones or radios.”

 

“Your memory is enough of a threat.  Katyusha, a wise leader wouldn’t take him with us.”

 

Ted chuckled, “Would a great general be frightened by one man?  Especially, the leader of your opponent?  Or would they display their might and intimidate them?”

 

“You’re coming with us,” said Katyusha proudly, “Come and see how your little tanks are so inferior compared to ours.  You’ll surrender before the match begins!”

 

“Well played,” said Nonna under her breath.

 

Ted smiled back at Nonna, “We’ll see about that.”

 

At the drop of a hat, a school vehicle was summoned to take all of them to the garages.  It was a short drive to the stern of the ship.  A large field and training ground was provided to practice maneuvers.  There was also a one kilometer track circle in the area, which baffled Ted and Lisa.  Why would a tankery team need a track field? 

 

Katyusha shouted a single order and the large doors opened.  Long red banners hung from the ceiling and grandiose music started playing.  The warhorse T-34 tanks of Pravda were line up against the wall in perfect ranks and files for inspection.  The heavier tanks were along the back on a higher section.  The large metal monsters were placed on a higher section as a place of honor.  In the centre of the garage was Katyusha and Nonna’s pride the grand and tall KV-2, and the lethal, long gunned IS-2.

 

This was nothing new.  All the tanks were well known parts of Pravda’s line up.  There weren’t any new additions or modifications or anything being done at the moment.  The tanks were just sitting there as very large paper weights.  But still Nonna was vigilant.  She carefully watched Ted as he followed the grandiose Katyusha the Tour Guide. 

 

“This is the greatest tank in the Pravda arsenal,” declared Katyusha in front of the KV-2, “The biggest and tallest tank and is unstoppable.”

 

“Oh wow,” said Lisa, trying to sound excited, “That’s great.”

 

“What wrong with my tank?  Why aren’t in awe?”

 

“Nothing, it’s just nothing,” said Lisa, “It’s just a tank.”

 

“Just a tank?!  From up there you can see the world and stand taller than everyone else.  Everyone has to look up at you and its strong cannon means that they have to respect your or be blown away,” said Katyusha, “It’s the strongest tank in the entire battalion.”

 

“The IS-2 is stronger, but that’s not important,” said Nonna softly.

 

Lisa must’ve heard her sister, “I think the IS-2 is better.”

 

“But it’s shorter,” countered Katyusha.

 

“Didn’t they ever tell you that size doesn’t matter,” teased Lisa.

 

“Size does matter!”

 

“Geez, if I had a nickle every time I heard this debate,” said Ted.

 

Nonna shot a disapproving look.

 

“It’s not like they understand what I meant,” said Ted, trying to reassure Nonna.

 

“Bigger guns means more power,” said Katyusha, “Explosive force can crush any tank regardless of armour.”

 

“But it’s a big target.  You’ll be shot in an instant.  And they’re slow,” said Lisa, “Smaller and faster tanks are better.  Right Nonna?”

 

“Both have their merits,” Nonna dodged the question.

 

“Not a good enough answer,” said Katyusha, “But, I guess you’ll just never understand, Lisa.  There’s a power when you stand on top of the big tanks.  Something an elementary schooler would never understand.”

 

“Uh-huh.  I think you’re making it up because you know I’m right,” Lisa stuck out her tongue,   
I bet that the KV-2 hasn’t even scored one hit and gets knocked out in every match.”

 

“Well umm… it’s…”

 

“See I’m right!”

 

“No you’re not!”

 

“Yes I am!”

 

“No you’re not!”

 

Katyusha and Lisa dropped deeper and deeper into a circular argument.  Nonna was unable to settle the disagreement since she was torn between her loyalty to Katyusha and the familial love for her sister.  She tried to tip toe around them, and tried to reconcile but they demanded that she pick a side.  Soon Nonna was drowned out by the echoing shouts and yells and exiled to watch until they ran out of breath.  Nonna sat down and tried to rub away her headache and hoping that the little girls would run out of breath.

 

“Alley-oop!”

 

Ted hopped up on the hull, climbed the ladder, and stood tall on the KV-2s turret.  He put his hand to his forehead and panned around like a periscope.  He whistled like he was staring across the Grand Canyon then looked down on the little girls.

 

“I see what you mean, Katyusha,” he said, “You could see for miles up here.”

 

“What can you see we’re in a garage,” said Lisa.

 

“Up, can see everything from here,” said Ted ignoring the question, “And I wonder…”

 

Ted started jumping up and down to make the metal ring.  Satisfied with the sound, he smiled and started dancing on the turret.  He moved his feet to a rhythm and turned it into a swinging melody.  His feet slid to make a low scratching sound to break the verses apart.  Soon after he started clapping, snapping, and humming happily.  His arms started to swing lightly then his moves became more vibrant with long slides and turns. 

 

“What are you doing?” asked Nonna.

 

“The Ethiopian Shim-sham,” said Ted between claps.

 

“Are you Ethiopian?” asked Katyuha, watching the spectable, “Which part?”

 

“125th Street,” he chuckled, “In Minnesota.”

 

“Minnesota isn’t in Ethiopia,” said Lisa.

 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Ted laughed, “Do you want to come up?  You’ll be bigger than anyone in here.”

 

Lisa thought about it for a moment.  She looked back at Nonna, who was slightly frozen at what just happened.  Without even getting between them Ted managed to silence them and make them completely forget what happened.

 

“Umm… yeah,” chirped Lisa.

 

The little sister ran up to the tank and clambered up the side.  She stretched to go up the ladder and go over the top. 

 

“Lisa be careful,” said Nonna.

 

“Don’t worry I got her,” said Ted, picking her up, “See you’re taller than everyone here, even Katyusha.”

 

Lisa smugly looked down on the Petite General and laughed.  Katyusha growled and declared that no one will look down on her.  Katyusha ran up the KV-2 and stood on her toes to try and loom over Lisa, to no avail.

 

“Nonna, put me on your shoulders,” ordered Katyusha.

 

Nonna sighed and walked up to the tank.  After a small tongue lashing by Katyusha for her slowness, Nonna picked up her commander and hoisted her on high.  Katyusha cackled as she was now the tallest among the entire group.  An unhappy Lisa tugged on her sister’s sleeve, but Nonna could not oblige.

 

“Ha.  How childish you are to feel so inferior just because you’re shorter.”

 

 _Said the pot to the kettle,_ thought Nonna and Ted.

 

“Don’t worry, once I graduate you won’t have to look up to me anymore.  Until then look upon my works and despair.  Ha, ha, ha!”

 

Lisa puffed her cheeks and crossed her arms but there was nothing she could do.

 

“Here you go.”

 

Ted plucked up Nonna’s little sister and put him on his shoulder.  Lisa thrashed about a bit from the surprise, but once she realized what was happening she stopped.  Lisa perched upon Ted and held his head tightly to keep from falling.  The little girls stood eye to eye and looked out across the garage.  There really wasn’t much to see, but being up high brought things into a different light.  Katyusha and Lisa started chatting in a friendlier manner.  Katyusha pointed to each of the tanks and told a grand story about its glory.  How that T-34 held off a pair of Panthers.  How that one knocked out the flag tank, and so on and so forth.

 

 _How was it that the two girls suddenly got along,_ pondered Nonna, _Both have a little man complex after all._

 

Ted let out a small huff and grunt, then Nonna noticed.  Ted bent his knees and slouched down to keep Lisa the same height as Katyusha.  A small bead of sweat ran down the side of his head and his knees were shaking.  Ted shifted his weight regularly to keep from tumbling over. 

 

“Thanks,” said Nonna softly.

 

“You can thank me by ending this quickly,” replied Ted, “Please.”


	7. Chapter 7

**NONNA CHAIKOVSKY**

 

After the ‘tour’ of Pravda, Ted left to go back to sightseeing and Lisa was picked up by Nonna’s parents.  After a long explanation that everything was going well and then an equally long goodbye, she returned to the garage.  The mechanics had all gathered and several large crates were placed beside each of the tanks.  Katyusha stood atop her prized KV-2 and lauded over the work.

 

“I want this done by tomorrow morning,” she barked, “And for every tank that is not prepared will mean a hundred rubles from each of you.”

 

“And if they finish ahead of schedule?” asked Nonna, “Shall you reward them?”

 

“Of course not.  This is their job after all.  Why are you back?  You still have the rest of the day off.”

 

“There is not much left to do,” said Nonna, taking a seat beside Katyusha, “I also wanted to talk about the American pilot that came today.  I believe we should change our strategy.”

 

“Why?  He didn’t see anything sensitive.  All of our materials have just been brought in and you’ve been with him all day.  There is nothing to be concerned about.”

 

“Perhaps he didn’t see anything, but he is clever.  He may have learned something from what we’ve said and how we’ve acted.  He may have been able to discern –“

 

“And what could he discern?  Nothing.  I only said what we had done, not what we were going to do.  You should give me more credit, Nonna,” Katyusha looked Nonna in the eye, “Why are you suddenly so fascinated with him?”

 

Nonna blushed and looked away, “It’s nothing.”

 

“Uh-huh.  Gather the team.  We’re briefing tonight.”

 

**TED “TUSKEGEE” FRANKLIN**

 

Ted walked out onto the airfield just as the Mustang flight was returning.  The fighters hopped across the airstrip just as the B-25s were rolling into position.  The P-40s and P-47s were in the hangar for inspection and re-armament.  The rest of the men were sitting around the field throwing balls around or playing cards with drinks in a cooler.

 

“Captain Franklin!” snapped Hatchling One, “Welcome back, sir!”

 

“How was training?  Everything work out okay?” asked Ted, grabbing a drink, “Still scared of dive bombing?”

 

“A little.  I’m worried I’ll lose control and crash,” he admitted, “Sorry, captain.”

 

Ted grabbed his shoulder, “Don’t worry too much.  Drop your bombs early and go cover the other guys.  That’s the best way for you to help.”

 

“Okay.  I’ll do that.”

 

“Hey, Tuskegee!  How’d your little trip go?” asked Tomahawk, moseying from his plane, “Learn anything?”

 

“A few things.  Got detoured to Pravda though.”

 

“Yeah?  A little spying?  What you got?”

 

“Not much, their second in command stuck to me like glue,” Ted took a seat, “Do we or Saunders have a souvenir shop?”

 

“No, why the hell would we?” said Tomahawk a little confused, “Speaking of Saunders they’re comin’ by for a strategy meeting.”

 

“That’s right.  How’d the rockets work?”

 

“They’re finicky and inaccurate and the fuses are hard to time, but I think they’ll work.  Hard to tell when we’re not shooting at the right time of day.”

 

“Alright, good to know.  Make the sure the bombers know what they’re doing.”

 

**VASILY THE BEAR**

 

Vasily returned to his office with a bag full of American food.  The strong smell went through the bag and wafted down the office halls.  He took a seat at his desk and turned the chair to face the window.  Outside on the airfield the team was making the final preparations. 

 

The fighters were rolled into position on the airfield and coated with laminate and thoroughly inspected.  Bombs were laid out and fastened beneath the wings.  A few of the pilots scribbled some saying and phrases in chalk.  The pilots were gathered around a chalkboard going over the flight paths and attack patterns.  Silhouettes of planes and tanks were on display to memorize.

 

“Commander Vasily, are you available,” asked Artyom through the door.

 

“Yes, come in.”

 

Artyom entered the room and saluted, which was returned.  He held several portfolios and folders and papers and arranged them on the desk.  His nose twitched but he tried to keep his composure.

 

“It’s this,” said Vasily, “American barbecue.”

 

Artyom nodded, “Did you have a sudden craving for something different?”

 

“No, I was taken by the American tankery captain and invited to lunch,” confessed Vasily, “A very large and loud lunch.”

 

“You went to Saunders,” said Artyom, “Did you find anything?”

 

“Not much, but they are preparing.  There were several new crates filled with parts but for so much it cannot just be for maintenance.  We will just have to hope they are not drastic modifications,” Vasily opened a folder, “Speak of modifications, it appears that the AirCom Authority has approved ours.”

 

“Yes commander, and the mechanics have completed the installation.  They are concerned about the operation however.  Especially their accompaniment.”

 

“Their participation has been approved and is necessary.  How else are we to install the bombs in the field?  Pravda Girls have received their instructions yes?  Have we received orders from them?”

 

“Yes, outlined in the documents.  This is very risky commander.”

 

“Because it is risky it will not be expected.  I am counting on you Artyom.  The squadron is under your command.  Deceive, distract, and destroy.”

 

“Understood.”

 

Artyom quickly glanced at the American food.

 

“Something else, comrade?”

 

“Well, sir,” Artyom cleared his throat, “Are you going to eat that?”

 

Vasily smiled and pulled the meal closer, “Go get your own.”

 

**KEI THOMPSON**

 

The American tank commander was sitting on top of her tank.  The sun was setting and the orange glow bathed the entire school ship in light.  Kei reached down into the turret and grabbed her lunch kit.  Inside was an All-American meal.  An extra-large cheeseburger with all the fixings, extra-large very salty fries, and one gallon of soda, diet of course.  With one hand she took the burger and with the other she marked a map beside her. 

 

“Hey Kei,” called Alisa walking toward her, “We’re all set for tomorrow.”

 

“Great!” Kei flashed a thumbs up, “Hold it.  You didn’t rig them with anything dishonest did you?”

 

Alisa’s face turned red, “Of course not!  The thought never crossed my mind.  Besides, we should be more worried about that dishonest Russian you invited over.”

 

“He’s not so bad.  Shady maybe, but not dishonest.”

 

“Uh-huh, so him sneaking around the back was just because he got lost right?” reminded Alisa.

 

“Okay that was spying,” said Kei sipping her drink, “But hey, Sergeant Oddball did the same right?  And now we’re friends.”

 

“Yeah, but we had to change our plans because of her,” Alisa jumped up on the tank, “Got another one of those in there?”

 

“Yeah, but it’s for me.”

 

“Seriously?  You’re going to get fat.”

 

Kei gave Alisa a serious look, “Fine, take one.  But I’m nibbling on your fries when I want.”

 

“Great,” Alisa snatched a bag.

 

Alisa unwrapped her burger and started eating away.  The savoury smell blowing across the campus tempting others to buy their own.  The two girls sat silently beside each other, looking out across their tanks.  The mechanical team had just finished their work and all the modifications.

 

“Hey Kei!” called the head mechanic, “When are the boys coming to pick up all the stuff?”

 

“Tomorrow morning.”

 

“Alright!  Make sure you tell them to come see me for some… let’s say a detailed overview.”

 

“A detailed overview?  Just that?” teased Kei.

 

“Maybe, maybe more.  Never know.”

 

“Hey!” interrupted Alisa, “Will those things survive being dropped from a plane?”

 

“If the chute opens, they’ll be fine.  If not, make sure you’re not under it,” she warned, “Right, see you later.”

 

The lead mechanic sauntered off and Kei and Alisa returned to their silent supper. 

 

Kei laid down on the cold green steel, “We should do this more often.”

 

“Do what more often?” asked Alisa.

 

“Hang out, girl talk, stuff like that.”

 

“Yeah, sure.  But we’ve haven’t had any girl talk yet.”

 

“You’re right,” Kei sat up, “You start.”

 

“Start with what?” asked Alisa, taken off guard, “Umm… uhh… boys…”

 

“You could ask about my date with Vasily.”

 

Alisa would have spit out her drink.

 

“Date?  You just ran into him.”

 

“Close enough,” teased Kei, “Besides, he’s going to show me his place after the match.  Then introduce me to a pair of friends.  And we’ll hang out on a wing of his plane.”

 

Alisa rolled her eyes, catching the meaning, “Sure he is.  And I’m sure he’ll give you some great Russian barbecue too.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**TED “TUSKEGEE” FRANKLIN**

 

It was a late dark night.  The glittering stars and bright moon were shrouded in a thick blanket of cold clouds.  The many lights of St. Petersburg were off.  Only the street lamps and the few late night shops glowed against the skyline.  Saunders’ and Pravda’s ships waited patiently in the calm harbour.  Small waves and light spray whispered in the shadows. 

 

A lonely figure stood on a balcony and inhaled the cool refreshing air.  Steam rose from a tall mug beside a small plate of food.  A late night snack when sleep wouldn’t come. 

 

BZZT!  BZZT!  BZZT!

 

The glow of the smart phone lit up Ted’s face.  An old friend wanted to speak with him.

 

“Hello,” he answered.

 

“Hey Ted, it’s Johnny.”

 

“What are you doing up this late Johnny?”

 

“Gotta get the mandatory cameo in, mate.  Three other guys and I are gonna appear to keep all the stories connected.”

 

Ted shook his head, “The hell are you talking about?”

 

“Nothin’.  Just calling to wish you good luck tomorrow.  You’re going to need it.”

 

“Thanks.  Same to you,” Ted sighed, “Hey you got a few minutes?  I want to talk to you about something.”

 

“Shoot.”

 

“There’s this girl, Nonna.  We spent some time together and she’s just my type.”

 

“Blonde?”

 

“Russian.  She’s kind of cold though,” Ted shook his head at the stupid thought, “Any advice?”

 

“You know who you’re asking right?  Everyone knows what happened.”

 

“Yeah, but Earl Grey’s kind of the same personality type.  And your long distance thing with Miho seems to be going well.”

 

“There’s nothing between Miho and me, mate.  Nuffin’.”

 

“Sure, sure.  So about Nonna, any tips?”

 

“You get her number.”

Ted didn’t answer.

 

“Well how do you think it’s going to go if you don’t get her number?  So that’s part one,” Johnny thought for a moment, “Just be yourself I guess.  And make the best of the time you’ve got together.  All I can say really.”

 

“A cliché, really?” Ted chuckled, “That’s all you got.”

 

“Hey, clichés work.  That’s how I got Earl Grey.  And it’s not like you have to save her from some big danger like in the movies or TV.  If you hit it off with the time you got and you not putting on a front then it’ll work out in the long run.  If don’t it wasn’t meant to be, alright?”

 

“Alright thanks.”

 

“Good luck.  The guys are rooting for you.”

 

“Same to you.”

 

**VASILY “THE BEAR” ROMANOV**

 

The lights of the runway guided the last of the planes into the hangar.  The rumble and grumble of the engines were slowly petering out.  Vasily hopped out of his landed fighter before the propellers stopped spinning.  A fellow student handed him a piece of paper with a name and number scribbled on it.

 

_What does he want?_

 

Vasily walked into a quiet room and dialed the number.

 

“Hallo?”

 

“Captain Otto, this is Captain Vasily.  Why did you call me?”

 

“Ah yes, I wanted to wish you good luck, Vasily,” said Otto smugly, “The American are much easier foes than we Germans.”

 

“If you’re calling to gloat, I am hanging up.”

 

“Wait, wait, wait.  I wanted to call you because I’ve sent you an email.  Tactical documents from when we last faced the Americans,” said Otto, “Perhaps you can use them to plan a counter attack.”

 

Vasily quickly checked his mail.  Sure as rain the message was there.

 

“Appreciated, but why?”

 

“A rumour I heard from Maho of Kuromorimine, and Miho of Ooarai.  Apparently Saunders intercepted radio signals back in the tankery international tournament.  If they will engage in dirty little tricks like that, sharing intelligence would be fair play,” Otto paused, “And I have checked.  This does not violate Gentleman’s Rules.”

 

“Spasibo.  Is that all?”

 

“One more thing.  Don’t be taken in by the charm and niceness of these girls they are far more cunning than they let on.”

 

“Kei is not very cunning,” said Vasily, “She is very laid back, relaxed, and can be energetic in a fun way, but devious or cunning.”

 

“Ah, so you’ve gotten to know one.  Well I wish you the best, but be careful.  You’re personality isn’t exactly what women look for.”

 

“What is wrong with my personality?” shouted Vasily, “And what do you mean ‘wish you the best’?”

 

“So it goes well, very good.  Good night, Vasily.”

 

“There is nothing between – hello?  Hello?  Hello?!  Damn Kraut hung up on me.  And he complains about my manners.”

 

**KEI THOMPSON**

 

It seems the sleeplessness curse was affecting all the teams as Kei tossed in her comfy bed.  She tried every little trick in the book.  A warm glass of milk, exercise to wear herself out, counting sheep, calming music, even some of that ASMR stuff people are always talking about, but none of it seemed to work.  Kei sighed and tossed off her blanket.  She took the phone off the nightstand and flipped through the apps. 

 

_Nothing interesting to do._

 

The blue glow of the light reflected off her white tank top and black shorts.  Her blond hair was loose, messy, and a little damp. 

 

Bloop, bloop.

 

A small notification caught her eye. 

 

_Hey, Miho’s still up._

 

“MIHO!  WHAT’S UP!” Kei texted.

 

“Good night, Kei *yawning face emoji*.  Why are you still up?” Miho replied.

 

“Can’t sleep.  Excited about my match tomorrow.”

 

“Against Pravda?  They’re pretty tough.  The Bluebirds say their air commander is really cold and hard. *worried face emoji*”

 

“He’s not a bad guy, just a little rough around the edges.”

 

“You met him?”

 

“Yeah, and I brought him over.  *Winking face emoji*”

 

“*Blushing emoji*”

 

“Just teasing.  We just had lunch together.  So hey… uhh… you think he likes blonde Americans?”

 

“…  I couldn’t say… I never met him…”

 

“That’s true…”

 

“But you’re a really nice and bubbly person.  Anyone would like you.  So, good luck.”

 

“Thanks.  Same to you and Johnny.”

 

“Umm… I was talking about the match.”

 

“Oh yeah!  That too!”

 

**NONNA “BLIZZARD” CHAIKOVSKY**

****

Amid this restless night, Nonna was seated in her comfy recliner listening to Russian folk songs and lullabies.  She hummed along with the music and let her mind wander.  The calming songs did little to lull her to rest. 

 

Bzzt.  Bzzt.  Bzzt.

 

_A message?_

 

“If you are awake, call me,” it said.

 

Nonna dialed the number and patiently waited as it rang.

 

“Nonna, it’s Maho.”

 

“Yes, I received your message.  What do you need?”

 

“I am calling to wish you success in your upcoming match,” she said bluntly.

 

“That is all?”

 

Maho paused, “And to ask if you’ve met the Screaming Eagle’s commander.”

 

“I have, why do you ask?”

 

“Alisa has a tendency to engage in underhanded tactics.  The pilots have a code of honor they adhere to.  I hoped to advise you to seek the same with Saunders.”

 

“We are well aware of Saunders’ tricks,” said Nonna, “But there is no concern.  Ted does not seem to be a dishonorable opponent.”

 

“You know this from one meeting?  You must have a greater grasp of people than I anticipated.”

 

“We’ve met a couple of times actually.  Outside the battlefield,” admitted Nonna in her tired state, “He’s a very peculiar fellow.”

 

“How so?” asked Maho seriously.

 

“He manage to calm Katyusha down after she had a fight with my sister.  If that is not peculiar than I don’t know what it,” Nonna yawned, “Perhaps I should ask him how he did it.”

 

“He luring you into a trap.  Men can be cunning in that way.  But I trust you did not let him into your school and see you tanks.”

 

“We did.”

 

“Nonna, I did not think you could be so foolish.”

 

“Worry not, I with him the entire time.  He saw nothing new.”

 

“Perhaps, but you still take precautions.”

 

Nonna yawned again.

 

“I see you are tired now as well,” Maho echoed the yawn, “I bid you gute nacht.”

 

“Dobroy nochi.  I must ask though, why did you call me and not Katyusha?”

 

“You will listen and find a way to make Katyusha listen.  If I spoke to her, she’d do nothing.”


	9. Chapter 9

The hot, humid mid afternoon sun was slowly sinking toward the ground.  The three judges had already assembled and had been patiently for the teams to arrive.  Of course they were fifteen minutes early, but it was common courtesy to arrive early should the unforeseen happen.  The lead judge in her short bob hair and round glasses tried to hide the annoyed twitch at the corner of her mouth and eyebrows. 

 

The third judge pointed, “There they are!”

 

“Finally!” they all said together.

 

A small cloud of dust rolled from both sides of the mustering grounds.  To the west came Saunders’ platoons of Sherman tanks.  Kei and her commanders stood out of the turrets waving at the judges.  And this time only they rigged up some loudspeakers to the side of the tanks.  The patriotic song ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic’ was loudly blaring across the field.  Midway’s Screaming Eagles were sitting on the hulls and singing along the bastardized hymn: ‘Blood of the Risers’.  Ted and Kei stood up and started conducting with their hands and the team sang louder.

 

“Typical Americans, huh?” said the Russian Judge.

 

To the east approached the grand Pravda armoured column.  In perfect ranks and files the tanks advanced as if they were on parade.  The platoon leaders stood at the head of the sections with Pradvda banners flying.  Behind the regular troops stood at attention, saluting the judges as they approached.  Of course Katyusha was at the head of the formation, standing on her tank trying to appear as big as possible.  The cold Nonna several meters behind standing statuesque.  Sturmovich pilots rode at the rear in Pravda supplied trucks.  Vasily and Artyom stood in the trucks proudly.  Like their American counterparts Pravda was blasting music.  The old anthem of the Soviet Union played, and on the third verse the pilots sang as one: “We fought for the future, destroyed the invader…”

 

The American judge chuckled, “Typical Russians, huh?”

 

Both teams arrived at exactly the same moment.  Ted’s Screaming Eagles jumped off the tanks and casually formed into the ranks and files.  Kei’s tankers did the same as well, and nonchalantly stood beside their airborne allies.  Pravda was much more formal.  In good order and fashion the troops dismounted, formed columns and marched into position.  At the orders of Katyusha and Vasily the columns halted and turned to face forward.

 

The commanders scanned each other’s companies.  Pravda’s tank company was all present and accounted for but there were some extra men from Sturmovich.  All the commanders were holding a small folder with several sheets of paper.  Before the judges could speak, Kei, Ted, Nonna, and Vasily handed their papers to the judges.  The judges quickly read over the text and nodded.

 

“Everything is in order,” said the lead judge, “Now, I want a good clean match.  I know you all know the rules, but we need to go over them formally.”

 

It took several minutes to completely go over the objectives, rules, and regulations.  Especially since the rules had to be translated into English and Russian.  After the formality the judges dismissed the teams and allowed them to go on their way.

 

A Midway pilot walked up and handed Ted a baseball and bat.  Tuskegee tossed the bat into the air and Vasily caught it dutifully.  The two men climbed the bat until Ted came out on top.

 

“Kei, pitch or bat?” asked Ted.

 

“You pitch,” said Kei, “Strike him out!”

 

“I will bat,” said Nonn coolly, “If that is no trouble, Commander Vasily.”

 

“Very well.”

 

The two sides cheered and jeered as Ted and Nonna got into position.  Ted bent his knees and leaned forward.  He rolled the ball in his hands and looked Nonna straight in the eye.  Nonna glared right back.  Her hands wrung around the neck and planted firm.  Ted raised his leg and whipped his arm as hard as he could.  The ball seemed to curve one way then change direction midair.  Nonna swung with all her might.  Just as the ball seemed to glide into the strike zone, a large crack snapped through the air.

 

Nonna followed through and the ball went straight over Midway’s heads.  The balls path was low and quick, frightening a few Americans enough to duck.  Pravda laughed when they did.

 

Ted whistled in admiration, “You play baseball before?”

 

“This is my first time,” said Nonna returning the bat, “It was enjoyable.”

 

Ted smiled, “Good to hear.”

 

“Artyom!” barked Vasily.

 

 Lieutenant Artyom snapped his fingers and the pilots unfolded a table and placed a pair of small glasses.  Artyom produced a small bottle from his jacket and placed it on the table.  Vasily stepped up and waited for either Kei or Ted to approach.

 

“It’s your turn, Kei,” said Ted.

 

Kei smirked, “Oh, I know what this is.”

 

Kei stepped up to the table and planted her elbow firmly on the surface.  She laughed intimidatingly with her hand open, waiting for Vasily to grasp it.  Vasily looked at her, shook his head, then poured out a glass of the drink for each of them. 

 

Vasily raised his glass, “To a grand match, victory, and to Russia.”

 

Vasily touched his glass to Kei’s.

 

“To the bonds of battle and honor,” Kei toasted in return.

 

She touched her glass to Vasily’s and took a sip.  The harsh taste burned her tongue and she immediately spit it out.  She coughed and hacked as Vasily quickly took a swig and grimaced in satisfaction.  Kei placed her nearly full glass back on the table.

 

The entire Pravda team recoiled and started whispering happily. 

 

“That’s bad luck, Kei,” said Ted, “You don’t put a glass of vodka back on the table.  You have to finish it.”

 

“Vodka!” exclaimed the entire Saunders team.

 

“There is no restriction for drinking in Russia,” said Vasily pouring himself another glass, “Besides this is barely anything..  Shall you try again or stay cursed?”

 

“Let’s go again,” Kei smiled and lifted her glass, “To the pilots of AirCom!”

 

Vasily nodded, “To the women of Tankery!”

 

The two glasses touched and chimed.  Before Vasily could take a sip, Kei slipped her arm around his.  Together they were entwined and drawn closer together.  They looked into each other’s eyes, one with a glint of surprise, the other a glint of playfulness.  Kei’s lips drew closer and closer.  Blood rushed to Vasily’s cheeks.

 

Gulp.  Gulp.  Gulp.

 

Kei drank down the glass at an astonishing speed.  Vasily tipped the glass and drank just as quickly.  A miniature race to finish was underway and Kei had a head start.  The drink burned down the throat and the strong smell of alcohol filled their nose. 

 

THUD!

 

Both glasses hit the table at the exact same time.  Vasily and Kei were gasping for air, grinning at each other. 

 

“Well done,” said Vasily, “Not even Ted has managed to drink a glass in a single go.”

 

“I’m tougher than I look.”

 

“I know.”

 

“If that is all,” said the lead judge, “All teams, to your positions.”

 

**KEI THOMPSON**

 

Kei stood out of the turret as the always does.  A detailed plan was written on the map along with other doodles.  The engines of her company rumbled all around her.  The right flank was led by Alisa.  Five 76mm Shermans were supported by a pair of M5 Stuarts.  Naomi led the left flank and her platoon of Sherman and was supported by a pair of Jumbo Sherman tanks as shields.  Which left Kei in the centre with her five tanks and a lonely little Stuart to serve as her decoy and scout.  Needless to say, this crew was not happy.  The remaining five tanks were 75mm Shermans, tasked to stay far to the rear as a reserve unit.  Every tank dragged along a little trailer with a large covering tarp and several gas cylinders. 

 

Above them the skies were clear and starting to take on an orange tinge. 

 

“Everybody know their parts?” checked Kei.

 

“Roger.”

 

“Alisa, I’m counting on you.  Don’t mess this up,” said Kei, “And use your actual woman’s intuition.  Not the other one.”

 

“You’re never going to let that go are you,” Alisa grumbled, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep everything in check.”

 

“We know our part, Kei,” said Naomi, “We’ll be out of the fight for most of it though.  You sure you’ll be okay?”

 

“We’ll be fine.  All we have to do is wait for the air support right?  No problem.”

 

“MATCH START!”

 

“All tanks advance!” ordered Kei.

 

The light tanks jumped ahead of the formation and zoomed across the fields in a cloud of dust.  The Sherman tanks formed into wedges and split off into three directions.  Kei’s objective was to reach the main bridge and hold the position for as long as possible.  Kei’s scout was tasked to find a place to hunker down and hide the Sherman tanks.  Thanks to the Authority restricting practice, both teams were going in with much less intelligence than usual.

 

Kei kept her eyes on the skies.  At any moment Stumovich planes could appear and strafe them with cannon or drop heavy ordnance on their heads.  But a Saunders had a little surprise for them.  A M2 Browning .50 calibre machine gun was mounted on each and every tank, and where the M2 Browning was too big, they used the smaller .30 caliber cousin. 

 

Kei lifted the feed cover and made sure the rounds were set correctly.  She slammed everything back into position and cocked the gun roughly.  The short barrel pointed up toward the sky and Kei swivelled around and around. 

 

 _Let’s hope I don’t have to use this,_ she thought, _Good luck, Screaming Eagles.  Get them before they get us._

 

**NONNA CHAIKOVSKY**

 

Pravda patiently waited for the call to begin.  Pravda’s main force was the standard line up.  Five T-34-85s, five T-34-76, Nonna’s IS-2, the large KV-2, and Katyusha’s T-34-85.  Augmenting the main force was a pair of KV-1’s with the short 76mm cannon.  The remaining ten tanks were light T-70 tanks and each pulled a small covered trailer. 

 

“Nonna,” said Katyusha, “You’ll lead the light tanks and protect them.”

 

“Understood.”

 

“Take the KV-1s with you,” said Katyusha, “All of the light tanks must survive for this plan to work.  We cannot afford a loss.”

 

“Nyet.  The KVs are too slow.  I can handle any threat myself,” Nonna looked around, “But if you are concerned, a pair of the T-34-76s will suffice.”

 

_Speed and control is key._

 

“But bigger guns can kill Shermans in a single hit,” said Katyusha.

 

“I have the biggest gun of the company,” said Nonna confidently, “But it takes a long time to load.  I need tanks that can cover me.”

 

“Alright,” said Katyusha, “But I want them back right away.”

 

“MATCH START!”

 

The two groups immediately separated toward their objectives.  Katyusha surged ahead of the column toward Pravda’s village.  American tanks were fast and could seize the area before they could blink.  But Pravda steel was strong and Katyusha was a master of ambush.  All she needed was a few moments and the village would become a cauldron.

 

Nonna warned her that she’d have to rethink her tactics.  Dive bombers and light bombers could level the area without even allowing her to fire a shot.  But Katyusha was stubborn.  Katyusha insisted that would be impossible, but she did agree to a little caution.  Nets entangled with shrubbery and foliage, and large green tarps covered the tanks in a basic camouflage. 

 

_Better than nothing._

 

Nonna’s group split off to go upstream.  A fair sized forest with thick canopies and surrounded by bushes and hedgerows overlooked a flat field and faced the river.  That was her objective.  Take and hold the area until relieved.  Nonna checked her watch.  It would be half an hour, maybe more until they arrived.  Nonna looked at her little light tanks.

 

_A single shot will rip right through them._

 

“Loader, I’ll be counting on you.  Do not fail me,” said Nonna, “T-34s, move ahead and secure the area.  We’ll bring up the rear.  All tanks report sightings.”

 

“Understood.”

 

“What about enemy planes?”

 

“If they come, do not stop moving.  Spread out and reach the objective.  Forget everything else.”

_No AA guns, means running is our only option.  Or we hope Stumovich gets them first._

 

**VASILY “THE BEAR” ROMANOV**

 

The plane’s engine growled loudly, shaking the plane and tugging it to the right.  Vasily squinted and peered through the blinding light of the late afternoon sun.  A harsh gust of wind threatened to throw his little plane into a spin, but Vasily kept the plane straight. 

 

The fearless Bear forsake the tough steel of his La-5 today.  Instead he was protected by a thin fuselage of wood and canvas.  The plane barely sped past 150kph.  Even its bomb load was small compared to the modern monsters in Sturmovich’s squadron.  But the biplane Po-2 was reliable, small, hard to see, and had a prestige claimed by no other.  Twelve Po-2s, unladen, flew in formation around their squadron leader.  Seated behind the pilots, shaking nervously and gripping their guns tightly was a mechanic, drafted into participating in the match.

 

“Calm yourselves, comrade mechanics,” said Vasily, “The wind will die down and the swings will stop.  Trust your pilot.  I have selected the best among us to fly you.  There is nothing to fear.”

 

Ahead of them were the flying tanks, six IL-2s.  The heavily armoured aircraft grasped large bombs in their talons.  Mighty cannons yearned to strike at a few tanks.  These would be the first to strike and should luck permit, the most dangerous force in the sky. 

 

High above the strikers, Artyom led Pravda’s La-5s.  The fighters were tasked not only to defend the slow, lumbering bombers, but to seek and destroy the enemy.

 

“Commander,” said Artyom, “Are you certain you don’t want us to escort you?”

 

“Yes, we IL-2s may be slow and large, but we are strong.  We can survive.”

 

“Remember your mission,” said Vasily, “You are not here to defend us.  You are here to distract the Americans.  Do not let them learn of us or the plan is unravelled.”

 

“MATCH START!”

 

“IL-2 group, find and attack the enemy tanks. Po-2 wing, follow me,” ordered Vasily.

 

“My wing, listen closely. Christof and Boris are to scout the battle field.  Find the enemy and draw them toward us.  The rest of the wing, escort the IL-2s.  Everyone else with me.  We engage the first target we find.”

 

“Be prepared to retreat,” interjected Vasily, “Your mission is not to destroy the enemy, but divert them.  Do not forget.”

 

“Of course commander.”

 

The dense formation of planes divided across the heavens.  The La-5s climbed as high as they could, spreading out to the limit.  The IL-2s stayed level and kept their formation.  The IL-2 gunners checked their weapons and kept their eyes open. 

 

Vasily dove and the rest of the wing followed.  Ivan, Vasily;s mechanic gasped and held his breath as they plummeted toward the earth.  Vasily pushed back into the seat and pulled hard on the stick.  The little biplane pushed its nose up and blew on the blades of grass. 

 

The entire wing flew at just thirty meters above the ground.  Were it not for the bubble of glass around their seats, the pilots could smell the fresh forest air.  The green and black biplanes cruised carefully toward their objective, a small forest upstream. 

 

_Low, slow, and camouflaged._

 

Vasily looked across the battlefield.  While enemy fighters would have a hard time spotting them, to tanks they would stand out.  The rules prohibited large cannons from targeting planes, but co-axial machineguns would be enough. 

 

_Half an hour to the objective.  Katyusha, Nonna, you better fulfill your part._

 

**TED “TUSKEGEE” FRANKLIN**

 

Ted led his signature wing of P-51 Mustangs flew ahead of a large formation of twenty-five planes.  A grand display of American firepower.  The six P-51s were unladen, assigned to intercept any enemy plane.  Behind the P-51s, were six large P-47s in brown a black and holding two five hundred pound bombs under the wing and a one thousand pound bomb under the fuselage.  The P-47 Thunderbolts would be the first wave, the first and hopefully the decisive strike against Pravda. 

 

The rookies were the third wing, led by Hatchling One and Hatchling Two.  Six P-40s painted green with shark jaws and menacing eyes.  Each one was armed with six fifty calibre machine guns, and carrying a pair of small 250lbs bombs.  The team was hesitant to put the rookies into the match, but Ted thought it better.

 

“Good practice,” he said, “So we can win the gold next time.”

 

Ted glanced over his shoulder and could feel the nervousness among the P-40s.  The rookie fighters were wobbling side to side as they struggled to control he extra weight.  While the other wings and pilots were speaking the hatchlings were conspicuously silent. 

 

“Drop the bombs if you can’t handle them,” said Ted, “It’ll be fine.  We’ll compensate.”

 

“N-n-no, we’ve got this,” said Hatchling One, “Right guys?”

 

“Roger that, we’ll get those tanks too.”

 

“Good on ya,” said Tomahawk, “But remember, your primary mission is to protect the big birds.  We gave you bombs just in case we needed some extra firepower.”

 

“Yeah!  Don’t forget about us!”

 

A pair of large engines growled and grumbled from a pair of large wide wings.  A wide double tail kept the long B-25 steady and straight.  The entire plane was painted in brown and had a pair of red eyes and the usual snarling mouth.  The six bombers were led by two wing leaders.  The leaders’ personal insignia were Native American depictions and the bombers were named: Shawnee, and Cheyenne.

 

“We’ve got the important stuff!” said Cheyenne, “We go down, this entire operation goes up in smoke.”

 

Ted chuckled, “If you get shot down P-51 wings will just pick up the slack.”

 

“Yeah, you’re just extra,” taunted Tomahawk.

 

“Don’t you dare.  I swear, I will turn this plane around,” said Shawnee.

 

“Okay dad,” said Ted.

 

“MATCH START!”

 

“Here we go!”

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**KEI THOMPSON**

 

Kei’s platoon crossed the country as quickly as they could.  The Sherman tanks rolled over bushes and hedgerows.  The little scout tank had already surged far ahead and had escaped Kei’s line of sight. Turrets pointed outward in every direction making the formation a little porcupine.  All the commanders were out and scanning the area and skies.  Fingers teased the machinegun triggers.  Anxious eyes jumped on every little speck and shadow.

 

Kei had to get to the bridge first.  The team that gets their first has the initiative.  An ambush could be prepared or they could cross quickly to assault the objective.  Saunders had a small plan.  From what they remembered there was a small knoll, some rocks and outcrops, where they could take cover. 

 

“Scout reporting.”

 

“Go ahead,” said Kei, “What’s up?”

 

“We’ve reached the bridgehead, and well, they’ve done some landscaping.”

 

“Landscaping?” Kei shook her head, “What kind of landscaping?”

 

“I don’t know how they did it but there are bocage hedgerows everywhere,” the scout reported, “There’s about five sections on both sides of the river, in five metre be five metre squares.  The terrain is still a little bumpy and there’s an open space in front of the bocage to the bridge.”

 

“How much open space?”

 

“One fifty, maybe two hundred metres of open area to the bridge.”

 

_Couldn’t get that lucky, huh?_

 

“Orders, ma’am?”

 

“See Pravda anywhere nearby?  Planes?  Tanks?”

 

“No ma’am.  Haven’t heard anything overhead.  Can’t see through the bushes, but I haven’t been shot yet.  So that’s a good sign.”

 

Kei nodded, “Go on and cross then.  I want to know what’s in their hedges.”

 

“A you crazy?!  If we try to cross they’ll shoot at us!  We can’t stand up to firepower of their magnitude!”

 

“They’re not going to waste an ambush on a scout tank.”

 

_Unless you find them, but I won’t say that._

 

“No way.  Sorry, but we’re not crossing.”

 

“Fine,” Kei pouted, “Pull back to the bushes and watch the area.  Report anything that moves.  We’ll have a debriefing after.”

 

Kei waved to the rest of her platoon to follow and adopt a new formation.  The tanks spread out a little further since enemy air was still unfound.  The commander drew on her little map in pencil how she thought the area looked and the formation they should adopt.

 

A low buzz suddenly perked her ears.

 

“Eyes up!  Eyes up!” called her comrades.

 

Kei turned around and looked into the sky.  In the distance two black specks were zooming in from the west.  They were high, from what the tankers could tell, but the shape was obscure and the emblems were hidden.  Everyone cocked their machineguns and turned to face the airborne threat. 

 

“How high are they?  How high are they?”

 

“I don’t know!  Do I look like a forward observer?”

 

“You should know how to gauge distance!”

 

“Maybe they’re friendly.  Are they friendly?”

 

“I don’t know.  I can’t see the emblems.”

 

Kei looked through the iron sight and pointed it toward the lead plane.  She was calm, cool, and collected as the bogey approached.

 

“Two clicks out, girls.  Just out of range,” said Kei calmly, “Get ready.  Open fire when I order.”

 

At the words of their commander the chatter stopped and all guns eagerly waited for the order.  All the gunners turned their turrets toward the aircraft.  They weren’t allowed to shoot with the main cannon, but the co-axial guns could let a few rounds loose if the planes got low enough.

 

“Should we deploy the –“

 

“Not yet,” said Kei, “Just stay frosty.”

 

Closer and closer, lower and lower.  The tank platoon kept moving forward, hoping that the bombs would miss.  One and a half kilometers, the specks grew larger.  The roar of the engine grew louder, screaming like falcons diving on rodents.  One kilometer.

 

“Fire!” shouted Kei.

 

Six large machineguns opened fire with a cacophonous rattle and deep thud of the hammer.  Red tracers spewed like fire out of the barrels.  The storm of bullets streaked into the air and homed into the attacking planes.  Red streaks went over and under the wings.  A few sparks burst off the wing edges. The bombs under the wings were threatening to drop.  The planes swooped in sped away.  Kei’s eyes widened and she shouted as loudly as she could, as her fellow commanders turned to keep attacking.

 

“Cease fire!  Cease fire!”

 

“Friendly fire!  Friendly fire!  We’re Eagles!  We’re Eagles!”

 

The fighters circled back lower and waved their wings.  The bright white star in a blue circle, the Screaming Eagle on the fuselage.  A pair of P-40s circled overhead, with a few scratches and bruises from the defensive fire.

 

“Dammit guys!  You need to tell us when you’re coming.  We can’t tell what’s what from that far away,” complained Kei, “What are you doing here anyway?  Aren’t you supposed to be escorting the bombers?”

 

“Captain Kei, this is Hatchling Five.  Hatchling Leader, err, Hatchling One was nervous since we haven’t found Sturmovich.  He asked us to escort you.”

 

“Hatchling Six to Captain Kei.  Do you want us around?”

 

“Yeah, we could use you.  How’s the damage?  We hit you too hard?”

 

“We’re fine, just a little peppered.  No major damage.”

 

“Okay.  I need you to fly on ahead to the bridge and river.  Tell us what you see.”

 

“Roger.  And if we find tanks?”

 

“Use your discretion.  Of course the more you knock out the better.”

 

“Got it.  We’ll see you at the river.”

 

The P-40s levelled out and flew ahead toward Kei’s objective.  The Sherman tanks returned to their position and marched forward.  Kei issued an order to slow down, however.  With the fighters ahead, they should clear out the enemy air before they arrive.  If there’s no air, they’ll scare the tanks.  She still wanted to get their first, but a little more caution was needed.

 

Kei’s platoon arrived at the objective a few minutes behind schedule.  The scout wasn’t kidding.  The entire area seemed to have been redone.  Five bocage sections had been erected.  Thick, bristle bushes accented with small colourful flowers and thick vines.  Wooden fences were hidden in the shrubs and the ground was soft from the watering. 

 

“We might bog down if we try to go through,” said a tank commander.

 

“Scout reporting.  There’s are a couple gates you can get though.  I’ll show you.”

 

A small Stuart hopped out of the woodwork nearly startling her allies.  Cautiously the tanks entered the hedgerows and took a position overlooking the river.  On the other side, the P-40s were circling overhead, trying to find any sign of the enemy.

“Alisa, Naomi, how are things?”

 

“We’re in position,” said Naomi, “About a kilometer from you and ready to reinforce at a moment’s notice.  We’re also able to rush back to the objective if Pravda gets around us.  Want the jumbos to cross the bridge?”

 

“No need yet,” said Kei, “We still haven’t encountered the enemy.  How are you, Alisa?”

 

A cannon blast blew through the earphone.  The heavy clunk of the loading followed.  Shouting and orders echoed lightly and Kei could barely make out the words.

 

“I’m a little busy,” said Alisa frantically, “Hey, focus the T-34s.  The T-34s!”

 

**NONNA CHAIKOVSKY**

A volley of fire crashed from across the river.  Five Sherman tanks fired recklessly against the formation of Russian armour.  T-70 tanks ran at full speed away from the river, trying to disengage from battle.  Their little cannons fired just to keep the Americans nervous.  A pair of T-34 tanks turned to face the enemy but dared not to get any closer.  Nonna’s IS-2 took the lead and rolled forward to take the shots.  From this range there was no danger, but the lighter tanks would be easy targets.

 

Nonna turned the turret to the right and raised the barrel ever so slightly.  The crosshairs fixed squarely on the centre of the right most tank.  A gentle squeeze and the cannon roared.  Its large shell soared slowly through the air in a white hot streak.  In a flash and puff of smoke the enemy tank was knocked out.  One down, four to go.

 

“Light tank group, withdraw back to the deployment area.  After three kilometers, proceed back to the rendezvous point,” ordered Nonna, “Captain Katyusha, we’ve encountered the enemy.  Tanks only, no fighters or bombers.”

 

GONG!

 

A shell smacked against the IS-2 turret and rang out loudly.  The T-34s shuffled back ever so slightly to avoid being struck.

 

“Hold your ground,” said Nonna coolly, “It will be difficult to penetrate your armour at this range.  Driver, advance.”

 

“Understood.”

 

_This will be all too easy.  Five Shermans over five hundred meters.  No threat.  I can handle them myself, but we must hold them here._

 

PLINK!  PLINK!

 

_What?_

 

PLINK!  PLINK!

 

Nonna rose into the cupola and scanned the area.  A pair of light tanks had gotten across the river and were engaging from the right side.  Small cannon, but damaging from the side.  Without orders the T-34s turned to engage.  The slow shells arced and was about to land squarely in the engine block.  The speedy Stuarts revved the engine and sped off to the next position.  Again, the T-34s turned to engage.

 

“No, don’t turn!” shouted Nonna.

 

The Shermans let another volley loose.  Two rounds fell short, throwing a splash of dust all over the optics.  The third scored a hit on a T-34’s suspension, smashing the tracks and transmission.  Luckily the white flag didn’t pop.  The other wasn’t as lucky.  The fourth round landed square on the thin side armour below the turret.  The white flag went up instantly.  Around the back the Stuarts continued to fire their annoying little shots at the pair of tanks, before speeding off in the direction of the T-70s. 

 

“Light tanks, a pair of Stuarts are headed your way,” Nonna warned, “Driver, put us between the T-34 and the enemy.  We will shield them.”

 

As her tank moved, Nonna lined another shot and let it fly.  A second Sherman was knocked out in vengeance.  Saunders rolled back a little further, but wouldn’t break completely.

 

_Why won’t they retreat?  All the advantages are ours._

 

A streak of red showered the ground around the tanks.  Sparks flew off the armour.  The sound of the impact echoed loudly inside the tank.  The screen of dust and smoke obscured her vision and Nonna’s shot when long.  As her comrade loaded, Nonna opened the top. 

 

Her eyes widened as a pair of American P-40s circled overhead.  Six bombs in total, capable of completely destroying herself and her comrade.  And there was a chance they saw the second force.  The force meant to be hidden until dusk. 

 

“Sturmovich, Sturmovich, enemy fighters at my position,” Nonna grabbed the map and quickly estimated her area, “Can you get here?”

 

No reply. 

 

The P-40s began to dive.  The large bombs snarled devilishly at the paralyzed Russian tanks.  A crash of shells from across the river would not let Nonna move.  Expose her side to the risk of being struck and knocked out.  Stay still and hope the bombs miss.  Nonna swallowed the situation and kept her cool.  Unable to move, she lined up another shot.  If she was going down, it wouldn’t be without a fight.

 

Nonna pulled the trigger.  The tank rocked and shook.  A large could of smoke exploded around her.  The sound of the blasts rang loudly in the turret.  Her ears rang and for a moment she couldn’t tell up from down.  After the cloud came a rain on dirt and pebbles.  Her shot fell short and flew off to the side. 

 

The P-40s had dropped their bombs moments before Nonna lined up her shot.  Four 250lb bombs crashed around the pair of tanks.  Far enough not to do damage, but close enough to jar the vehicles left and right.  The P-40s climbed again to try for another attack with the bigger 500lb bomb.

 

_They won’t miss again.  One more, just one more before they return._

 

Nonna looked through the sight.  Impossible, it was an impossible shot.  While she was being assailed from above the Sherman tanks deployed a heavy smoke screen.  From beyond the smoke the Americans laid down accurate fire. 

 

“T-34, repair status.”

 

“We managed to get the transmission running, but we need to be outside for the rest.  Leave us here.  Proceed to the rendezvous.”

 

“T-70 troop, report.”

 

“We engaged the Stuarts, but they ran off after the second round of attacks.  Change of plans?”

 

“No keep going to the rendezvous.  You’ll be without heavier support.  We’ve been entangled and engaged by enemy air.”

 

“Understood… Thank you, Nonna.  We will not fail you.”

 

“Driver, try to get us away from here.”

 

_We won’t outrun the planes, but we’ll sure as hell try._

The IS-2 rolled off in the time between volleys and rolled off toward the rendezvous.  As they fell back, the immobilized T-34 continued to return fire, keeping Saunders’ attention on the same spot.  Nonna stood out of the turret and watched the movements of the fighters. 

 

“Brace yourselves,” Nonna ordered, “The fighters are diving.”

 

And exactly on que the P-40s began their steep descent.  One came from the front the other from behind.  In a desperate attack, Nonna fired the co-axial machine gun.  The little rounds fell harmlessly onto the ground.

 

Nonna sighed, “Damn it all.”

 

BZZT!  BZZT!  BZZT!

 

A stream of red tracers flew over the IS-2.  The P-40s pulled off and dropped their payload in a panic.  The bombs impacted far away from the tank, though the earth still shook and dirt still flew.  Coming in from the heavens was a pair of Russian angels, La-5s.

 

“This is Artic Fox, this Artic Fox.  Who is the tank below?  I repeat, who is the tank below?”

 

“This Lt. Nonna Chaikovsky.  Thank you for the assistance.”

 

“Lt. Nonna Chaikovsky continue to withdraw then return to task.  We’ll deal with these.  Over and out.”

 

The four fighters turned and weaved and climbed in their dog fight.  Streams of red and orange tracer went across the sky and rained on the ground.

 

“Driver, as fast as you can.  T-70s, T-34 report.”

 

“T-34, we were knocked out.  We lost track of the Sherman platoon too.  Sorry.”

 

“Light tank detachment here.  We haven’t seen the Stuarts since they broke off.  We’re close to the objective area.  Do you want us to change?”

 

“Nyet.  We’ll meet you there.  Report all contacts and any changes.  Over and out.”

 

**TED “TUSKEGEE” FRANKLIN**

 

Ted’s twelve plane formation had broken off from the bombers and rookies long ago.  He led the wings high into the sky searching for planes to intercept or the call of the tanks to strike.  But things were silent.

 

“Somethings not right, Tuskegee.  It’s too quiet,” said Tomahawk, “We might be flying into a trap.”

 

“Don’t think so.  My guess is that the tanks want to bleed the time until planes become useless,” Ted banked his plane, “Still nothing around.  Damn it.”

 

“But this is strange isn’t it?  Sturmovich flies three layers of planes and always toward the objective from two sides.  But we haven’t seen shit since the start.”

 

“Maybe we’re just lucky,” said Ted.

 

_Just what are you planning, Vasily?  What are you planning?_

 

“Anybody got word from the tanks?”

 

“Not at all,” reported all wing leaders.

 

“You do now,” said Kei’s voice, loud and clear, “I’ve got a Pravda company staring right at me.  They might start crossing the river at any moment.”

 

“You heard the word boys.  Let’s bring down the thunder!  All wings follow me!” ordered Ted.

 

Twelve glorious eagles banked and steadily descended to the combat zone.  When they arrived, Kei’s small platoon was in trouble.  From above they saw everything.  The heavy tanks of Pravda steadily advancing toward the bridge, unafraid of the shells thrown at them.  A group of T-34s hidden amid the opposing bocage covered the advance with steady and precise fire.  And as Saunders was distracted with the front a pair of T-34s were crawling up the sides, preparing to ford the river.

 

“Sturmovich hasn’t shown – hold it,” Ted peered through his sight, “Six bogeys dead ahead, low.  P-47s begin your attack, we’ll handle the air.”

 

“Mohawk, Mi’kmaq, this is Sioux.  You two take out the flanking T-34s.  The rest of us, we’re hitting the centre formation.  Go!  Go!  Go!”

 

“Mustangs, let’s get some!  Yahoo!” hollered Ted.

 

The fighters split off to their targets and soared across the sky as fast as their engines would allow.  Ted flew at the head of his wing.  Within moments they were staring straight at the enemy.  Six IL-2s with the long and large cannons.  Beneath the belly, a group of bombs.  Ted leaned forward into the sight and watched the target move.  His finger pressed against the trigger.  A few more moments, a few more moments.  It would take a few bursts to take out an IL-2, but a single hit from the cannon would take him out of the fight.  Three hundred meters, two hundred, one fifty.

 

The wing of P-51s fired all at once.  In an instant the sky was filled with a blanket of red tracers.  The IL-2s returned sporadic and slow fire, picking their shots deliberately.  The Mustangs shifted and banked to avoid the slow shells, but the IL-2s kept the course. 

 

The flying tanks forced their way through the P-51s.  Ted pulled hard on the stick and cut the engine.  His P-51 flipped over and slipped behind the IL-2s.  Tomahawk followed close behind, but the rest of the wing was slow and sloppy as they maneuvered to avoid each other.  As they sped to catch the flying tanks a hail of machinegun fire pecked at their armour.  Russian gunners fired in sweeping cones, hoping to score any hit they could.  But Ted didn’t flinch.  A lighter aircraft may have moved to evade, but the P-51 was American aluminium and armoured just as much as the Russians.  Ted forced the engine into maximum power and charged straight at the IL-2s.

 

Just like the stallion it was named after, Ted’s Mustang raced toward the IL-2s.  He opened fire at two hundred meters.  The stream of red tracers drowned the small yellow bullets of the gunners.  The tongues of fire licked the Russian’s wide wings and cascaded in a shower of sparks.  A large white smile spread across Ted’s face as a stream of black smoke spilled from the enemy’s tail. 

 

“Yehaw!” cheered Tomahawk as he scored his own victory, “Y’all better catch up or there’ll be none left.”

 

“Mi’kmaq, you got one on your tail!  Pull up!”

 

“There’s one on me too!  Argh!  They got me!”

 

“Where did these guys come from?!”

 

Pouncing like wolves, four La-5s bit down on the fat P-47s.  Two pairs attacked the flanking planes and picked them off with ease.  Then they turned their attention to the centre herd.  The Thunderbolts tried to respond by sending two of their kind to intercept.  The large bombs were thrown away from the wings and crashed into the water.  The explosion threw up a geyser and soaked the nearby tanks. 

 

“Tomahawk, we got to get those fighters,” ordered Ted, peeling off from the pursuit, “You guys behind, split in half.  Two take the IL-2s, two help us with the fighters.  Go!  Go!  Go!”

 

“Yes sir!”

 

Ted jumped over the IL-2s and ran to intercept the west wing.  Tomahawk, the wingman, sped off to the east wing.  Ted opened fire immediately when they came in range.  The Russians responded in kind.  Six machineguns screamed against the bellow of four cannons.  The three fighters barrel rolled out of the streams and turned hard to come at each other again.  Ted slipped between the Russians and got a good look at the personal insignia.

 

A great white wolf snarled at his Native hunter.  It had a thick white mane and teeth like daggers and stained with blood.  The eyes burned crimson like the Soviet flag, and the centre was golden as the hammer and sickle.  Beneath the wolf was the pilot’s name in Cyrillic letters.

 

“Tomahawk, look out!  You’ve got the ‘Bear’ with you!” Ted panicked, “I’m coming to help.”

 

“The ‘Bear’?  I thought he was on you?  He’s not these guys!  Ahh!”

 

A La-5 managed to quickly turn and was right on Tomahawk’s tail.  A small burst glanced off the fuselage with a loud crack and bang.  Tomahawk suddenly turned and weaved to avoid the shots. 

 

“I got you buddy,” said Tuskegee, banking to engage, “Just hold on.  I’ll be there in a – damn it!”

 

The Wolf pounced on Tuskegee and fired directly in front of him.  Tuskegee had to bob and flip to avoid being hit.  As he moved the Wolf got closer and closer.  He could feel the predator’s eyes fixing on his back.

 

“Tomahawk, can you get to me?” asked Ted, climbing then quickly diving.

 

“I can sure as hell try.  Arg!” said Tomahawk, rolling his plane.

 

“We’ll fly toward each other and aim for our tails.  Let’s go!”

 

Ted and his wingman charged toward each other as quickly as possible.  Ted held his breath as the two fighters levelled out and moved straight toward each other.  Closer and closer, they opened fire as soon as they could see each other’s faces.  Rivers of fire flew over them and the two planes pulled away together.

 

“Did we get them?”

 

A bolt of cannon dashed their hopes.

 

“Thatch weave,” ordered Ted, “That’ll buy us some time.  Everyone else report.”

 

“Thunderbolts here, they took another one of us out.  We’re getting out of here.”

 

“We got another IL-2, but another pair of La-5s appeared.  We’re engaged with them now.  Watch it!  Sorry can’t talk right now.”

 

Ted took a look over the battlefield.  The formation of IL-2s was still on course and ready to bomb Kei’s position.  The Sherman tanks opened fire with their AA machineguns, hoping against the odds to knock one of them out.  In a desperate order Ted and Tomahawk abandoned their duel and charged straight of the IL-2s.  The enemy gunners opened fire but the Americans would not be deterred.  Screaming Eagles returned fire and the groups were bathed in lethal lead.  Sparks flew from the wings and fuselage.  The controls started to stiffen and the planes became less responsive, still the flying tanks wouldn’t fall.

 

“Kei, you gotta move,” said Ted, holding down the trigger, “Kei, do you read?”

 

“Ted pull up!” Kei shouted back.

 

“What?  Whoa!”

 

Five large barrage balloons leaped out of Kei’s trailers and quickly ascended.  The large grey balloons were tethered by a thick cable, capable of cutting the wings of planes.  The IL-2s swerved to avoid collision and exposed their large profile.  In the rush the dropped their bombs.  The infamous whistle of ordnance filled the air.  Kei’s tanks opened fire from below, landing many hits on the slow aircraft.  Ted and Tomahawk pulled up to avoid the balloons, barely making it over.  The soft surface of the grey material lightly brushed up against the belly of the P-51.  Girlish screams filled the airwaves as trails of black smoke filled the sky.

 

“Who got hit?” asked Ted and Kei.

 

One by one the pilots and tankers called in.  By some miracle, everyone was still in fighting order.  The bombs landed just in front of the bocage, shredding the cover but not close enough to damage the tanks.  Ted’s Eagles escaped the La-5s and resorted to hit and run tactics, putting their advantage in speed and engine power to good use.  The dove on the Russians from multiple angels, barely giving them time to breathe.  Suddenly the Russians began to pull back.

 

“They’re pulling back, captain.  They’re pulling back!  Ha, ha!  Let’s get on after them boys!”

 

“Let them go,” ordered Ted, fearing ambush from the Bear, “Reform and patrol the area.  Kei, we’ll redirect the bombers here.”

 

“Thanks,” Kei grunted, “Naomi, get over here.  We’re going to need you.”

 

“Eagles, let’s escort those bombers.”

 

**VASILY “BEAR” ROMANOV**

 

The radios were a chaos of contact reports, shouts, and panicked orders.  All from the girlish tankers.  The stoic men of Sturmovich kept the upmost discipline, relaying only what was needed to be known.  And with every report, Vasily reworked the details of his plan. 

 

The wing of Po-2s were untouched since their departure, just as Vasily gambled.  Ted and his Screaming Eagles would be looking for modern planes at altitude, not little wooden biplanes nearly touching the ground.  The Bear allowed himself to crack a small smile at his little victory.

 

“Commander Bear, how far are we to the landing zone?”

 

Vasily checked his speed and map, “Ten minutes.  Ten minutes to landing.  And if radio traffic is correct, our defense will be lighter than planned.”

 

“Contacts, ten o’clock on the ground.  Contacts, ten o’clock on the ground.”

 

A pair of Stuarts were charging, line abreast toward the group of low flying biplanes.  Vasily casually looked at them, then pulled back on the stick.  The Po-2 started a shallow climb and the rest of the group followed.  At roughly one hundred meters they levelled out, confident they were out of the axis of fire from the co-axial machinegun. 

 

“Split into pairs and separate for the time being,” said Vasily calmly, “Make it look like you’re on reconnaissance.  After five minutes, head to the zone.  We’ll all meet there and –“

 

The mechanic gunners screamed and ducked into the plane.  Red bullets flew across the bubble cockpits and threatened to punch holes in the wings.  The Stuart commanders popped out of their turrets and opened fire with their AA guns, a development Vasily did not expect.  Still, he remained calm and collected.  He ordered the wing to climb to two hundred meters and begin the split as planned.

 

“Captain, the Stuarts will follow us and knock us out when we land.”

 

“I’ll deal with the Stuarts,” said Vasily, “Wolverine, you’re with me.”

 

“Understood, sir.”

 

_No bombs, machine guns too weak, and too slow to really outrun them.  A good challenge._

 

As the rest of the group climbed and peeled off, Vasily took his biplane and dove toward the attacking tanks. 

 

“Wolverine, we don’t have any way to knock these tanks out so we’ll have to bog them down.  Americans are over confident and over eager.  We will continually buzz them until we reach the river.  If we are lucky, they will drive into the deep section and drown the engine.  If not we will lose them once we fly over.  Do you understand the plan, comrade?”

 

“Yes, comrade captain.”

 

“Gunners, keep your eyes open for any planes.  You may fire at will.”

 

“Y-y-yes sir.”

 

The two biplanes took the Stuarts head on in a straight and deep dive.  Vasily and Wolverine opened fire with their own little pop guns, aiming for the driver and gunner optics.  The American commanders were either sloppy or shaking.  Their rounds sprayed across the battlespace and in every direction.

 

Vasily charged through the storm of bullets and dared to get as close to the Stuarts as possible.  The biplane’s wheels nearly touched the top of the tank.  For a brief moment Vasily met the green eyes of an American.  He saw her black hair, cut in a boyish style, the Saunders crest on her uniform and the expression of surprise on her face. 

The tanks ground to a halt and rushed to turn so they could give chase.  The Wolverine and Bear continued their taunting passes and bug bite attacks, pulling the tanks closer and closer to the river.  But with every pass, the returned fire got closer and closer.  The mechanic gunners panted for air and fired aimlessly.  Friendly rounds few all around and were as more a danger to the biplanes than the tanks.

 

“Stop shooting, comrade!” ordered Vasily, “You’re going to hit, Wolverine.”

 

“Captain, we can’t keep this up,” said Wolverine, barely dodging another burst, “We need to break off.”

 

“We’re too slow now,” Vasily, rolled the biplane, “Just hold on.  We’re almost there.”

 

_Five more minutes, five more minutes._

 

The river came into view and a glimmer of hope sparked in their eyes.  Vasily and Wolverine levelled out and made a straight line for the banks.  Vasily pressed on the pedals, skidding the plane left and right.  The Stuarts were still hot on their tail, firing madly as they went.

 

THUD!  THUD!  THUD!

 

Three rounds smacked into Vasily’s fuselage.  The Russian Bear grumbled at the injury to his pride.  A stream of fire flew across his nose.  Vasily rolled the plane and veered to the right, dodging the second burst.

 

“I’m hit!” reported Wolverine.

 

Vasily looked over his shoulder, searching for a streak of black or white smoke.  There wasn’t any smoke, but Wolverine’s plane was struggling to maneuver.

 

“What’s the matter?”

 

“Heavy hits on my left ailerons, and the rudder is sluggish.  I can keep her up, but I can’t take another hit.  Sorry commander.”

 

_He can’t break off either._

 

“We’re almost there, just hold on.”

 

Vasily and Wolverine made a hasty turn to dodge another barrage.  As they came out of the turn and straightened out, the Stuarts managed to get directly under the Po-2s.  The little guns lined up perfectly with the belly of the plane.  A single burst and the dreaded black smoke would vomit out of the plane. 

 

BOOM!

 

A blast forced the plane up.  Vasily wrangled with the controls to keep from tumbling to the ground.  His gunner yelled and stamped his feet.  Vasily flipped the plane over to get a look.  One of the Stuarts was knocked out, smoke rising out of the engine block, white flag waving in the hot wind.  The second Stuart was beating a hasty retreat for the hills, firing all its guns at another target.

 

“This is Nonna Chaikovsky.  The Stuart should cause you no more problems.”

 

Vasily and Wolverine spotted the IS-2 and started circling.

 

“Nonna?  What happened to the armour group you were escorting?”

 

“We encountered enemy forces and I sent them away while I and two others provided cover.  Unfortunately, my comrades were knocked out.  The main force should have reached the area by now.  We’ll meet you there.”

 

“Understood.  Good luck.”

 

Vasily and Wolverine were the last of their wing to arrive.  The area was a nice flat, dry field with a small wooded area.  It was upstream, but too far from the river and objective to be considered reconnoitring.  All of the T-70 tanks and their trailers were accounted for, and laying out in the field.  The crews were seated on the hulls enjoying a snack or reviewing maps and plans. 

 

Vasily landed the plane as carefully as he could.  The wooden frame shook and trembled on the unpaved ground.  It hopped and jumped with every bump.  Vasily pumped the brake and forced the nose down.  When it ground to a halt, Vasily jumped out of the cockpit with a furious glare.

 

“What are you doing?!  Get those tanks out of the open!” he shouted, “Now!  And you!  Help me push this into the treeline.”

 

Vasily and his mechanic ran behind the plane and pushed with all their might.  The Po-2 rolled slowly at first, but as soon as it got rolling

 

“Why the panic?” asked a tanker, “We’re not engaged in combat and there’s no reason for planes to come out this far right?”

 

“They may if they are scouting.  And a bunch of tanks sitting closely in the open is a wonderful target of opportunity.  Now get in the woods!” Vasily shouted at the treeline, “And you pilots!  Why didn’t you tell them to move?”

 

“We tried, sir, but they’re part of a separate command.  We’ve emptied the trailers though and started work on the planes.”

 

“Damn it.  Well if you’re just going to sit there, tanks, then get out of here.  You’re going to give us away.”

 

“Belay that,” said Nonna rolling across the field, “As he ordered move into the woods and set up a cordon.  What are you waiting for?  Move!”

 

Instantly, all the Pravda crew jumped into their tanks and moved into the trees.  The light tanks zipped around the landed planes and placed themselves right along the edge.  The barrels of the cannons were sticking out of brush and shrubs.  Nonna’s IS-2 was at the foremost position facing the river. 

 

“Is this acceptable, Captain Vasily?” asked Nonna.

 

“Yes, I assume you will be remaining here to command these people?”

 

“Of course.  You’re security cannot be in better hands.”

 

Vasily nodded then turned to his task.  He flipped of the trailer top and examined the contents.  There was his ration of food and drink for the night, but most importantly there were the pylons and bombs waiting to be attached to his plane.  All around the planes were either fully equipped and ready to fly or finishing the installation. 

 

Vasily looked out over the battlefield.  The sun was setting and in a few minutes it would be dark.

 

“What’s the word on the radio?” he asked.

 

“Pravda was just hit with a pretty substantial bombing run.  They are assessing damage, but it looks like we were lucky,” his subordinate reported, “Enemy planes are withdrawing and both tank teams seem to have dug in.”

 

“Give me a casualty list.”

 

“Just as planned,” said Nonna, picking up her radio, “Pravda tanks, has there been any movement on the flanks?”

 

“Nonna, where have you been?  You should have been back by now.”

 

“You tasked me to defend the planes remember?  They are ready to launch.”

 

“Then get them in the air!” barked Katyusha, “I want to break through now!”

 

“May I?” asked Vasily, “Katyusha, this is Captain Vasily.  I am not committing my pilots on a foolish mission just because you’ve gotten a few beatings.  Without Artyom’s fighter cover we will be slaughtered just like the IL-2s.  We proceed as planned.”

 

Vasily’s voice darkened and a devious look crept across the face of all the pilots.  The predator animals painted on the planes snarled and growled.  The Siberian tiger, the wolverine, the linx, the falcon, the leopard, and the most fearsome bear lurked in the shadows, waiting for night to come.

 

“When night falls, the Russian Bear will strike down the Eagle.”


	11. Chapter 11

**TED “TUSKEGEE” FRANKLIN**

Ted was the last to land at the airfield.  The sun had just slipped beneath the horizon and the purple of dusk was darkening and turning black.  The Mustang rolled across the airfield and toward the hangar.  The mechanics gave him the signal and Ted cut the engine.  Ted jumped out of the plane and walked toward the mess hall.

 

“Get it done as quick as you can,” ordered Ted, as he marched, “I want to get up as soon as possible.”

 

“You can’t rush art,” replied the mechanic.

 

Inside the mess hall all the pilots had gathered.  There were two long wooden tables and enough seats for everyone.  A member of the culinary society was busy handing out meals.  The men were chatting away as if the match had ended.  Jokes and jabs and silly stories made a pleasant white noise.  A hot meal was steaming on the plates and was devoured quickly.  Glasses and glasses of drinks were refilled and emptied and refilled again. 

 

“Nice to have a hot meal and a little rest.  Right fellas?” smiled Ted as he grabbed his tray, “What’s the grub tonight?”

 

“Captain!  Attention!”

 

Everyone scrambled to stand up and salute their commander.

 

“No, no, no need to stand up.  Enjoy yourselves.”

 

The squadron let out a sigh of relief and sat back down.  Spoon and fork jabbed into the tender meat and scooped up the savoury soup.  After a few moments the happy conversations arose again.  Ted walked past the content faces then took his seat beside Tomahawk.

 

“Not bad, huh?” said Tomahawk, elbowing Ted, “We got their entire IL-2 wing.  Our tanks don’t have to worry about air attack now.”

 

“We only shot down six planes.  There’s twenty four out there, and twelve of them we never found.  The battle isn’t over,” said Ted loudly, standing up, “And while we’re in here having a hot meal and staying warm inside, the girls are out there still fighting.”

 

The room went silent.  Pilots stopped eating and drinking.  The happy mood, faded away as the stark reminded sank in.  All eyes were on the captain.

 

“The battle isn’t over yet and we’ve had it easy.  The girls are in the field getting shot at, bombed, ambushed, and all sorts of hell.  Right now they’re probably eating whatever cold food they brought with them,” Ted swirled his soup, “Which means we have to work twice as hard to make it up to them.  In twenty minutes we start phase two of the plan.  Everyone know their parts?”

 

“Yes sir!”

 

“Well?  What are they, boys?  Loud and clear!”

 

Hatchling One sprung up, “Rookie wing will fly patrol to intercept and shoot down any enemy aircraft.”

 

“P-47 wing will fly air strikes all night at targets marked by the tanks.  We won’t stick around to fight any aircraft.  We have to get as many sorties in as possible.”

 

“B-25s have two jobs.  The first is to drop supplies and equipment to the tanks.  Our drop zones are Kei’s current position at the river, our objective zone, and an area in Alisa’s attack path.  After we supply the tanks, we return to base and rearm with bombs.  B-25s will hit the bridges until the sun comes up or we’re ordered elsewhere.”

 

Ted nodded, “And how will you see your targets?”

 

“We’ll light the way,” said Tomahawk loudly, “Mustangs will find the path and lead the groups to their targets.”

 

“Good.  Now finish up.  We’ve got to get in the air as soon as the mechanics are done.”

 

**NONNA CHAIKOVSKY**

 

The stars were starting to twinkle overhead and a cold wind blew over the river.  Smoke from dying fires kept the bugs away, but did nothing against the cold of the night.  Nonna sat in her turret eating a cold meal from a tin.  Her drink was lukewarm coffee from a thermos.  Her comrades were unhappily eating cold soup, bread, and meat and grumbling at the poor taste.  The pilots stamped out the fires and took anything that could make the slightest light.

 

“A single ember brings a thousand bombs,” said Vasily, “No fire, no light.  Eat it cold.”

 

_We haven’t heard a single engine since we arrived.  But caution is wiser.  Still…_

 

Nonna checked her watch.  It was almost time.  She traced the path on the map.  It was a two pronged attack.  Katyusha would lead her company down the centre, across the river and breakthrough Saunders’ line. 

 

_Both flag tanks should be present at this area.  This can be the decisive combat.  And should she fail, it will fall to this company._

 

She tapped the map twice when traced a new path from her position.  Her mission was twofold.  First was to cross the river, outflank Saunders’ main line, and support Katyusha’s attack.  However, should the battle end before she arrives, the company is to immediately assault the objective.

 

_While dealing with the American flanking force, if they haven’t redeployed.  And avoiding our own bombs._

 

“Vasily,” called Nonna, “I have some questions about the plan.”

 

Vasily put down his sandwich, “I suppose you want to know how we’ll find our targets in the night.  How we can tell friend from foe?”

 

Nonna blinked in surprise, “Yes, that’s exactly correct.”

 

“Tracers.  Your machinegun tracers burn green or white.  American tracers burn red,” Vasily explained, “That’s how we’ll tell.  Po-2s also fly low.  From the flashes and sparks, we’ll see silhouettes.”

 

“The same can be said of Screaming Eagles then.  They’ll use the same tactics.”

 

Vasily nodded, “But it is more likely they’ll carpet the area with bombs hoping to score a hit, rather than accurately attacking targets.  Superior firepower doctrine and ‘a delivery of freedom’ as they say.”

 

A deep rumble approached from the south.  Every person in the area dropped whatever was in their hands and ran for cover.  For the pilots it was under the wings or into the cockpits.  For the tankers it was into their armoured shells.  Hearts pounded as the sound grew closer and closer. 

 

It sound was too deep and too loud to be a fighter.  It approached too slowly as well.  Nonna ordered her tank to quietly leave the tree line. 

 

_So long as I don’t shoot, it can’t see._

 

The IS-2 crawled out of the trees and stopped just halfway out.  Nonna grabbed her binoculars and looked up.  Several navigation lights were blinking across the sky.  It was too far to see and the emblems or shape of the aircraft.  They appeared to be headed for Katyusha’s position.

 

“Katyusha, enemy planes are headed for you.”

 

“B-25s,” said Vasily, “B-25 bombers.”

 

“Captain Vasily says they are B-25 bombers.  I suggest you fall back.”

 

”Katyusha will not fall back,” said the Little General, “They can’t see in the dark anyway.  We will not abandon this position to the enemy.  Hold your ground until the start time.  Over and out.”

 

Nonna growled as Katyusha dismissed common sense. 

 

“We’re moving the schedule forward.  All tanks advance to objective!” Nonna closed the hatch, “Open fire with machine guns.”

 

The company was baffled by such an order.

 

“Just do it and follow me.”

 

Her IS-2 rolled out of the woods and marched toward the front.  Nonna pulled her trigger and unleashed a stream of fire into the air.  The comrades behind her followed suit releasing a hail of bullets. 

 

_Turn to face us.  Turn to face us._

 

Nonna aimed her gun at the retreating planes, shooting at them in futility.  The bullets flew high and far in great arcs, like shooting stars.  It was impossible to miss from a birds eye view.  The pilot, the navigator, the bombardier, the gunners, anyone up high must have seen them.  But the planes didn’t turn.

 

“All tanks, rush to the enemy position.  Fast as you can.  Anyone that falls behind will be left behind.”

 

_Katyusha, I’m coming._

 

**KEI THOMPSON**

 

All was quiet along the front.  Since the skirmish in the afternoon, both sides had dug in and were waiting for the other to make the first move.  The barrage balloons were still floating lazily.  Sturmovich’s fighters returned several times, but didn’t dare to attack.  The enemy air just circled and patrolled, probably relaying information to Katyusha and Nonna.

 

In the lull Saunders took advantage to have a meal.  It was just a cold sandwich with some biscuits and a bar of chocolate, the standard Saunders ration.  The taste was bland and made all the less appealing because it was cold. 

 

A soft wind carried a savoury smell of borsch from Pravda’s side making Saunders envious.  Small fires flickered through the bushes, but Kei couldn’t make out any tanks.

 

_Oh well.  Screaming Eagles will have to get them._

 

The low rumble of bomber engines grew louder and louder.  Above the red, green, and white navigation lights twinkled.  Kei chuckled as she heard Pravda shout to get back in the tanks and stomp out the fires.  Kei and the other commanders grabbed their flashlights and signalled the approaching aircraft.  The bomb bay opened and several crates and containers were set loose.  Parachutes popped open with a gust of wind and gently fell nearby.  All the girls rushed to grab the gear before Pravda launched its attack.

 

“Get it set up quickly,” ordered Kei, “Facing out toward the river and make sure you can lift them up too.  The small ones go on the turrets.  You all remember how to do this right?”

 

“Yes, ma’am!”

 

Kei cracked open a crate and grabbed as much as she could.  There were several wires and batteries in one box, another contained large and small searchlights.  With the help of her crew, Kei carried the large light to the hedgerow.  They pushed aside the branches and focused aimed it across the river.  The smaller light they rigged to the turret alongside the machinegun.

 

“Alisa, Naomi, did you get your drops?”

 

“We’ve got them,” said Naomi, “We’re setting them up now.”

 

“Ours was off target,” said Alisa, “We’re driving to it now.  Hopefully we won’t run into anything.”

 

“Any trouble?”

 

“I saw some tracer fire earlier.  Looked like they were trying hit the bombers or just nervous.  Still, that means Pravda had been in the same spot since this afternoon,” Alisa paused, “And I think I just heard some engines overhead.”

 

“Probably the rest of Screaming Eagles,” Kei checked her watch, “A little early though.”

 

“Must be trying to find the target zone.”

 

“I’m redeploying,” said Nonna, “I’ll support Alisa’s advance.  The jumbos will help Kei and the others were remain to defend.”

 

“Okay.  How long until your platoon reaches us?” asked Kei.

 

“Fifteen minutes, give or take.”

 

“Okay, we’re delaying the plan until Naomi arrives.  We jump in fifteen minutes.”

 

**VASILY “BEAR” ROMANOV**

 

Vasily’s biplane rose into the air at the head of the formation.  Blinking navigation lights made sure everyone was still in formation and nobody collided.  The Bear was shaking his head and grumbling to himself as they flew.  Because of Nonna opened fire their entire position was compromised and they had to take off immediately.

 

Vasily turned on a small flashlight and checked his instruments.  The extra weight of the bombs was slowing them down.  From where he was it would take fifteen minutes to reach Katyusha’s company.

 

“Stay awake everyone,” said Vasily, “Especially you gunners.  You’re our best defense against enemy fighters.”

 

“If enemy fighters show up we won’t be much of a challenge.”

 

“Don’t underestimate your plane, comrade,” Vasily said, “Remember, this is the only biplane in history to shoot down a jet.  An American jet.”

 

“Yes, captain.”

 

The wing was halfway to the target zone when Vasily spotted something strange in the distance.  Several navigation lights blinked up ahead.  At the distance it looked like three aircraft were flying in close formation.

 

“Artyom, what is your current position?” asked Vasily, approaching the bogeys. 

 

“It’s difficult to tell, captain.  I estimate we’re halfway to Katyusha’s position.  We have small bombs on as planned.”

 

“Did you split your wing into two groups of three?”

 

The two groups were getting closer and closer.  By now they were eight hundred metres apart and the distance was closing quickly.  The formation started to wobble and spread.  Anxious fingers tapped triggers and rubbed against controls.  Mechanic gunners were more tired than frightened, but anxiety was contagious.  Their hearts started beating faster and faster, pumping adrenaline through their bodies.

 

“No, commander, I didn’t split the wing.  Did you?”

 

“All planes break formation!” shouted Vasily.

 

The two groups were five hundred meters apart when Vasily gave the order.  Streams of red bullets flew out of the darkness.  The rattle and tap of machineguns cracked around the planes.  The gunners opened fire, hands shaking and eyes darting around the darkness.  Sturmovich’s return fire sparked and glanced off the enemy planes.  In the brief flashes and light of the tracers the enemy was discovered to be a group of B-25s. 

 

The enemy fire grew more and more accurate with every burst.  Vasily’s planes bobbed and weaved and turned as quickly as they could.  With each pass they got slower and slower.  The pilots were hesitant because of the darkness.  A single misstep and a collision could spell the end of them. 

 

PLING!

 

A bullet burst against Vasily’s glass bubble.  His gunner yelped and sprayed bullets across his line.  Friendly fire pecked against allied planes causing a fury over the radio.  Crossfire from both sides intensified.  A ball of red and yellow lights flew across the sky.

 

“Captain, we’re above you, we’re above you,” reported Artyom, “But it’s too thick to attack.  We can’t tell who’s who either.”

 

“That fire is getting closer, captain.  I don’t think we can hold out much long- dammit!  They hit my rudder.”

 

“All Po-2s, break off and fly straight and level away from the enemy,” ordered Vasily.

 

“We’re going to get chewed up, captain.”

 

“Cease fire and turn off your navigation lights.  I repeat, cease fire and turn off your navigation lights.  Now!”

 

Vasily yanked on the stick and pressed on the pedals with all his strength.  The plane struggled to turn but he grit his teeth and forced it all the way around.  With his little guns he opened fire at the front of a B-25.  The enemy pilot returned in kind with four times the firepower.  Vasily was small and he was the captain.  When the returned fire approached he pulled up as hard as he could, narrowly dodging the attack.  The B-25 top gunner swivelled her turret around.  Vasily flipped a switch and he instantly disappeared into the darkness.

 

“Begin your attack, comrade Wolf.  We’ve cleared the area,” Vasily spotted several lights ahead and descending, “Be careful, we are directly in front of you.”

 

“Captain, we’re diving from directly above,” said Artyom, gasping at the realization, “Wildcat, Lion, move to intercept the B-25s.  Everyone else come with me to cover the Po-2s.  Captain, I suggest you descend.”

 

“Understood.  Everyone with me descend to two hundred meters.  Keep all lights off and hold fire. Five minutes to the objective zone.”

 

The Po-2 dove just as the enemy planes encountered Artyom’s interceptors.  The sky erupted in another flurry of fire and tracers.  Everyone held their breath as they wing returned to formation in the darkness.  They could barely see what was around them and flew almost entirely on instinct.  Stray bullets and shells rained around the descending aircraft.  Gunners reloaded as quickly as they could and cocked their weapons. 

 

_Thousand one, thousand two, thousand three…_

 

Vasily counted the seconds, waiting for a close burst of enemy fire or for his comrades to call out a contact.  Five seconds turned to ten.  Ten turned to twenty.  Twenty became a minute.  Vasily let out a relieved sigh and relaxed into his seat.  He looked over his shoulder and saw a thousand shooting stars streak across the black velvet of night.

 

“It’s pretty isn’t it?” he said to his gunner.

 

“Y-yes, captain.  I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 

Vasily nodded and sighed, “Remember it, comrade.  Remember that many of your comrades are fighting hard and risking getting shot down so you can look at some pretty lights.”

 

The gunner was silent.

 

“Does that make you angry, comrade?  Sad?  If it does, steel yourself and help us strike at the Americans.”

 

Vasily heard the machinegun cock.  A clatter of empty cartridges against the floor.

 

“Good.  Make every shot count.  We’re going in.”

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**KEI THOMPSON**

All the tanks were in position and engines were warmed up.  Guns and cannons were loaded.  Hearts were racing and adrenaline was surging.  Over the radio sounds of battle played as bomber crew and fighters tangled with Russians.

 

_One minute to launch._

 

“Tuskegee, you ready?” asked Kei.

 

“We’re five minutes out,” reported Ted, “We’ll support you as soon as we arrive.  You got the spotlights right?”

 

“We did.  We’re going in thirty seconds.  Don’t be too late.”

 

“Roger that.”

 

“Move out!”

 

The Jumbo Shermans sprang into action and sped across the field as fast as they could.  The searchlights waited anxiously.  The order was not to shine until the enemy opened fire.  With any luck, the tanks would secure the other side of the bridge before Pravda knew what was happening.  The radio cracked with a new report.  Alisa and Naomi were beginning their attack as well.  In a few moments the quiet, peaceful night would be shattered and the sounds of war will erupt for hours.

 

“We’ve reached the bridge.  Crossing now.”

 

The Jumbos rolled across the bridge without a single shot being fired.  It seemed suspicious that Pravda wouldn’t retaliate or try to push them back.  Kei ordered her platoon forward as planned.  The tanks forced their way through the bocage with all their power. 

 

The second wave was halfway to the bridge when Pravda’s line opened fire.  The blinding flash from the muzzle and the streak of hot lead.  A might roar of the thunderous blast.  The thick cloud of dark smoke and the smell of powder.  The earth shook and trembled.  Plumes of dirt and stones burst and rained down on the tanks.  Bullets followed the volley of shells like an intense hail.  The white tracers were like fireflies, their bright light reflecting off the surface of the water.  Saunders tanks returned a chaotic blast.  The darkness swallowed their shells and they fired again.

 

Kei pulled three tanks back into bocage and ordered the rest to cross.  She watched the enemy fire closely, trying to discern where they were hiding.  She spoke calmly and clearly and turned all the searchlights to the proper position.

 

“Blind them!” Kei shouted.

 

Every single light flashed and shone across the river.  The entire area was bathed in a bright white light.  The tanks cast long shadows before being swallowed by the light.  Across the river nothing was hidden.  Pravda’s tanks were set up in two lines, a dung in front line and supporting fire from the bocage. 

 

Saunders immediately opened fire.  American shells flew across the river and landed all around the enemy.  Blinded by the light, Pravda was unable to return fire.  Whatever they managed to fire flew harmlessly over the tanks or landed terribly short.  The jumbos pushed forward, bouncing every shot and shell that came its way.  Their 75mm cannons returned fire and landed hits square into hulls and turrets.  The heavy tanks secured the bridgehead and were pushing forward slowly but surely.

 

“Alright everyone, push through!” ordered Kei.

 

All the tanks rushed toward the bridge and dared to cross.  They left the searchlights beaming and turned on the ones on their turrets.  Pravda began slowly withdrawing, pulling back into the shadows and thick cover of the hedgerows.  Kei slowed the advance.

 

_Katyusha loves her ambushes and encirclements.  I’m not falling for that._

 

Orange light flashed behind her.  A wave of heat kissed the back of her neck.  Enemy fighters swooped down and destroyed all the barrage balloons.  Sturmovich ascended and came for another pass.  Their attack focused on the searchlights covering the advance.  Without any hesitation, Saunders opened fire at the assaulting planes.

 

“Ted, I’ve got enemy air harassing me,” radioed Kei, “We need your support.”

 

“Roger that.  Rookies, get to Kei and help out.  Sorry Kei, that’s all I can give you.  Alisa needs help too.”

 

“How long until they get here?”

 

“This is Hatchling One.  Three minutes.  Please hold out until then.”

 

“We’ll try.  Everyone, push through before they can see.  Move it!  Move it!  Move it!”

 

WHOOO!  WHOOO!  WHOOO!

 

_What’s that sound?  It’s like a witch’s broom or something._

 

**NONNA CHAIKOVSKY**

“Tanks eight and nine, move to the left and ford the river.  Tanks six and five take the right side.  Everyone else move to cover,” said Nonna calmly.

 

The light tanks scattered as ordered, braving the attack from Saunders.  Bright searchlights chased the fleeing tanks and hot shots followed close behind.  Nonna rolled her IS-2 forward and fired to attract the enemy’s attention.  It was extremely difficult to land a hit.  Staring into the searchlights was like looking directly at the sun.  Her long gun let out another blast.  The shell streaked across the river and through up a cloud of smoke.  A searchlight burst in a spray of sparks and a tank fell back.

 

CLANG!

 

A heavy shot bounced against her hull.  The driver jumped, jerking the tank forward.  Another shot impacted against the turret with a loud gong. 

_Their small guns are no threat._

 

“Continue the advance” ordered Nonna, “Slow and steady.”

 

Another shell smacked against the turret and bounced high into the air.  The ricochet was deafening.  Nonna ducked into the turret and covered her ears.  The tank shook and trembled, anxiously waiting for the next attack.

 

_That must be Naomi.  Which means the Firefly._

 

“Driver, turn the tank to the right and advance.  We’re crossing the river.”

 

“Y-yes ma’am.”

 

As the tank moved Nonna lined up another shot.  She stared into the light and squeezed the trigger.  A stream of small arms fire shattered the glass bulbs.  The turret turned, still spraying bullets across the battlefield.  One by one the large searchlights were extinguished.  Smaller lights continued to shine, making Nonna crack a small smirk. 

 

_Five hundred fifty metres... pull the trigger… and one tank knocked out._

 

As Nonna lined up her second shot the little lights flickered off.  Both sides were now shooting blind.  As shells flew over and around the battlefield, Pravda was beginning to cross the river.  The cold water splashed on the hull. 

 

Its peaceful sound of flowing water contrasted the sounds of battle.  The twinkle of the stars reflected magically over the waves.  The fresh scent of the forest persisted against the harsh, hot smell of cordite and powder.

 

Nonna’s tank finished its crossing and began a steady advance into the enemy lines.  Around her the flanking light tanks were beginning an assault.  The light tanks were pressing from both sides at maximum speed.  Sprays of machinegun fire spewed from Saunder’s position, trying to spark against a target.  Nonna’s light tank reserve was beginning to cross the river and continued to shoot in support.

 

Nonna steadily advanced toward the enemy position, braving the small arms fire and bombardment.  She returned fire calmly, unsure if she was hitting her marks in the darkness.  Suddenly all firing stopped and the world went silent.  Pravda ground to a halt cautiously.

 

“Nonna, what do we do?”

 

“Advance slowly.  And watch what you shoot.  We’re mixing in with the enemy now.”

 

Nonna opened her command hatch and stood out as tall as she could.  The enemy was there.  The enemy was waiting.  The enemy knew they were there.  One shot and everything would erupt again. 

 

Slowly, slowly, slowly.  Advance slowly and quietly as possible.  Through squinting eyes Nonna searched for the enemy.  There was an electric tension in the air.  Hairs stood on end.  A tingle ran up and down the spine.  Feet tense on the pedal, straining not to stomp down.  Fingers on the trigger, struggling to keep still.  Those shadows around you could be either friend or foe, and whoever fired first would lose second.

 

“Tank stop,” Nonna whispered, “Comrade, turn the turret to two o’clock.”

 

A shadow was approaching her tank.  Its clattering tracks barely audible above the sound of Nonna’s own engine.  She couldn’t make out the shape or type, but it was moving at a steady pace.  Suddenly it stopped.  Perhaps it was also trying to identify what was ahead.

 

“All tanks stop moving,” Nonna whispered, eyes fixed on the shadow before her, “Does anyone see anything in front or behind them?”

 

 There was a long radio silence and with each passing moment the tension grew.  Slow each tank quietly reported what they saw.  Many saw a tank in front, a few behind, and others still saw nothing around them.  It was impossible to tell who was where.

 

Suddenly the shadow began to pull back slowly.

 

“Is anyone reversing?” asked Nonna.

 

“Thank Five here, I am.  Should I stop?”

 

Nonna breathed a sigh of relief, “No, please proceed to withdraw.  We were the tank near you.”

 

“Oh thank God.  We almost shot you.”

 

“All tanks advance to the central river and prepare to engage the enemy,” ordered Nonna.

 

As Nonna’s tank pulled back the sound of airplane engines grew louder.  Coloured stars appeared overhead and flew slowly across the sky. 

 

_No lights to guide them or tracers to follow.  There is no threat._

 

“Enemy fighters over my position.  I will relay exact coordinates in a moment,” reported Nonna.

 

The planes started to dive.

 

_Impossible.  How can they see?_

 

A sound like roaring wind came from the skies.  Streaks of fire spat from the fighter’s wings.

 

“Rockets?!”

 

 

**TED “TUSKEGEE” FRANKLIN**

 

“Ted, I think I see you right above us.  We need illumination and air support right away,” reported Alisa, “Friendlies mixed with enemies.  Danger close.”

 

“Understood.  Listen up boys, I’ll dive in and light up the area.  Thunderbolts hit the targets as soon as you see them and get out of here.  Mustangs fly cover until I use up all my rockets, then Tomahawk will light it up and so on and so on. Got it?”

 

“Yes sir!”

 

“Okay, let’s go!”

 

Ted pushed down on the stick and started a shallow dive.  He closely watched the altimeter’s numbers tick down.  Ted started to pull up and pulled the trigger.  A pair of bright orange-yellow streaks flew from beneath his wings.  After a few moments a bright flash appeared and bathed the battlefield in light.  Below Saunders’ Sherman tanks had formed a hasty line further back from the river and Pravda’s armour was scattered in front of them.

 

Both groups opened fire in the sudden flash of light.  Smoke and tracer blew across the battlefield.  Sparks splashed against heavy armour.  The Thunderbolts fell from the above and picked their targets carefully.  Pravda panicked and punched into full speed.  The Screaming Eagles stayed calm and collected, adjusting their vector with slight presses to the pedals.

 

Three one thousand pound bombs shrieked as they fell.  The terrifying whistle must have made the tankers hearts skip and beat.  The first pair of flares died when the bombs hit the ground.  Three bright flashes and a clap of thunder.  Ted swung his fighter around and released another pair of flares. 

 

Three light tanks were knocked out and a large tank seemed to have taken substantial damage.  Still the large tank fought tooth and nail against the advancing American tanks.  Pravda was fully spread out when the Thunderbolts were circling around for another attack.

 

“I’ve got contacts, eleven o’clock low,” reported Tomahawk, “All fighters move to engage.”

 

“La-5s most like.  Weren’t they on the B-25s?” said Ted, “Shit.  B-25s how you doing?”

 

“We’re limping but still alive.  I’ve give you an update when we land.  In one piece I hope.”

 

“Rookies, better get back here,” said Ted, “We’ll beat them with numbers.”

 

_Where the hell is the rest of Sturmovich?_

 

Ted pulled up and joined the rest of his formation.  The rockets under his wings made his plane slower and less responsive.  The Mustangs dove on the Russians and their enemy rose to the challenge.  Both sides held their fire, waiting for the exact moment not only to see the enemy but take them down in a single blow.  The lights got closer and closer and closer.  Ted leaned into this sight and pressed the trigger.

 

Every fighter fired their rocket flares.  A wall of shooting stars burst like novae, blinding every pilot in the air.  The Mustangs opened fire with their guns.  Rivers of bullets surged through the light, hoping to score some lucky hits.  After a long burst, Ted yanked hard on the stick and pulled up straight into the dark sky.  He flipped the plane over and used the rudder to make a sharp Immelmann turn.  Ted was pushed back into his seat.  Fingers on the trigger.  Eyes focused on the sight.  He flipped the plane and readied to face an assaulting Russian.

 

_What the?  Where did they go?_

 

The bright flares were petering out but Ted could still see silhouettes.  There were Mustangs and Thunderbolts, but no Russian planes. 

 

“Anyone see them?  Anyone see them?!”

 

“They can’t just disappear.”

 

“M-m-maybe they ran.  M-m-maybe we scared them off?”

 

“Navigation lights.  Look for their navigation lights.”

 

The radio was choked with tense and frightened chatter.  Ted swivelled in his seat, searching for the enemy.  Below Pravda was pressing with a counter attack, surrounding Saunders with the light tanks and fixing them with the heavy.  Shots were bouncing off the armour.  Alisa and Naomi were returning diluted fire.  The Sherman tanks were slowly pulling back, desperately trying to disengage in one piece. 

 

“Thunderbolts, start your second attack,” ordered Ted, “Make a hole for the tanks to pull back through.  Go!  Go!  Go!”

 

The Thunderbolts dove for the largest cluster of tanks.  Pravda began maneuvering to avoid the strike.  Pilots grinned as they got closer and closer, eager to knock out the entire company.

 

“Holy shit!  Pull up!”

 

The P-47s fled as fast as they could.  Streams of cannon fire nipped at their tails and wings.  It seemed to come out of the darkness itself.  There was barely a shadow behind them.  The heavy fighters tried to roll and weave to avoid the attack.  They shouted and cursed as the cannon rounds got closer and closer.

 

Without thinking it through, Ted dove to engage.  He couldn’t see the silhouette, only the P-47 lights.  He pulled the trigger and released a bright burst behind his ally.  A spray of sparks flashed in the darkness.

 

Ted’s eyes widened, “They’re flying without navigation lights.  Get evasive!”

 

Suddenly a burst of cannon flew over Ted’s canopy, another flew across his wings and a third burst jumped up across his engine.  Ted jerked his plane to the left and swivelled around in his seat.  He could see the flashes of the cannons and a brief glimpse of the enemy, but as soon as he turned it disappeared.

 

“Thunderbolts, drop your bombs and get out of here!” ordered Ted, “We’ll try to cover you.  And turn off your lights.”

 

“Roger.  Bombs away.”

 

The bombs scattered across the area.  The bright flashes engulfed a few tanks below.  As Ted rolled his aircraft he thought he faintly saw someone fall out of their tank.  There was no time to think about it.  He yanked hard on and stick and stomped on the pedals.  The P-51 performed a sloppy barrel roll.  As he rolled he fired another burst.  His shots hit home in a flurry of starbursts.

 

_Is he shot down?_

 

“Help!  I got one on my tail!”

 

A P-51 was flying straight and level toward the group.  Behind him were flashes from a pair of cannon, methodically picking its shots.  The American wobbled and listed left and right.  The Russian was calm and collected, matching his every move and not shooting unless it was a certain shot.

 

“I got you.”

 

Ted rolled his aircraft over and cut the engine.  His ally flew under him and Ted slipped behind, hoping he wasn’t in front of the enemy.  As he tailed an unseen enemy, the skies around him were chaotic.  American planes tossed and tumbled and climbed and dived to avoid the enemy attacks.  But the pilots were extra on edge.  Maneuvers were stiff and slow and cautious so they wouldn’t collide with their allies.  Bullets and shells clashed and rained.  From below the tanks resumed firing.  The flow of battle only seen in the frames of flashes.  Saunders tried to help their airborne allies by shooting their AA machineguns, but the added fire only made things much more difficult.

 

“Captain, please shoot him.  I can’t keep this up.”

 

“Calm down, calm down,” Ted thought for a moment, “Bank left then right and keep doing that until I tell you to stop.”

 

“O-okay sir.”

 

_I’ll get three chances.  After that, we lose._

 

Ted lined up right behind an invisible shadow.  The plane banked left.  Ted watched the lights closely and counted the seconds.  The lights disappeared for a brief moment then reappeared again.  Ted pulled harder on the stick, leading an invisible target.  The plane banked right.  Again the lights disappeared then reappeared.  This time there was a split second burst from the darkness.  Two red cannon shells dared to try and hit the target, barely missing the left wing.

 

_Last chance._

 

The turn reversed again.  Ted lined his sights right on the tail of the P-51.  He counted the seconds, the half seconds.  He pulled the trigger.  The machineguns rattled, shaking the plane.  The muzzle flashes and seemed to light everything before him.  The rounds hit the enemy plane hard, raking it from nose to tail in heavy rounds.  The Russian fired one last burst to try and take down his target.  The La-5 suddenly stopped firing and the enemy plane pulled away, defeated.

 

“You’re clear,” said Ted, “Now go and help th–“

 

Cannon slammed into his wing.  The aileron jammed and refused to budge.  Ted flicked the rudder and avoided the second burst.  Ted looked over his shoulder and saw the guns flash.  The enemy was right on his tail, maybe a hundred metres or less. 

 

“I got one on me,” said Ted, “Anyone lend me a hand?”

 

“Can’t sir.  Shit!  I’ve got one on me too.”

 

“Same here.  Arg!  I’m done, sorry guys.”

 

“I’ll get you captain!  Turn to the -  God fucking damn it!  I’m done too.  Bastard came out of nowhere.”

 

“Scratch one bandit,” said Tomahawk, “Headed to you now, captain.  Fifteen seconds.”

 

Several rounds flew over Ted’s head, “I might not have fifteen seconds.  It’s the Wolf.”

 

Ted struggled to maneuver the aircraft.  The damaged wing forced the plane to veer to the right.  Trying to change direction was slow and clunky, like trying to fly a bus.

 

PRRT!  PRRT!  PRRT!

 

Fifty calibre rounds buzzed around Ted.  A smile cracked across his face.

 

“I’m breaking right.  Try to get him.”

 

Ted let the plane wobble then pulled hard on the stick.  He turned as hard as he could, exposing the entire shape of his plane.  The Wolf followed and let out another shot.  Tomohawk fired as soon as he saw the flash.  The rounds raced against each other to find the mark.  Sparks burst and the planes began to limp. 

 

“One more burst and –  Whoa!” Tomahawk pulled up to escape an attack, “There’s one on me now!  Sorry, captain.  I have to break off.”

 

Ted pushed harder on the pedals, “It’s fine.  Looks like you hit him pretty hard too.  I’ll shake him.”

 

_If I can get the rudder to cooperate.  Now to get him off me._

 

“This is Alisa.  We’ve been overrun and are pulling back.  Naomi, get out of here and set yourself up in the objective zone.”

 

_That’s it!_

 

“Alisa, I need you to start spraying the skies as you fallback,” said Ted, “I’m pulling a fighter to you.”

 

“Uhh, okay.  Troops, open fire!”

 

The ground troops concentrated their fire behind them.  Streams of bullets crisscrossed making a lethal bright orange web.  Ted dove into the crossfire, silently praying he wouldn’t be hit.   The fighter dropped so low it nearly scraped the top of the tanks.  The heavy thud of the guns below punched against his plane.  A stream of cannon rounds chased the Mustang.  Bullets streaked all around him.  There wasn’t a reason to bob or weave or roll.  Ted held his breath and powered through the ordeal. 

 

He broke through the crossfire and sped off toward the horizon. 

 

“Did you get him?” he asked, excited.

 

“Don’t think so,” Alisa yelped as another shot landed, “Pedal to the metal.  Get out of here!”

 

“Okay, we’ll cover you from above and… Hold on something’s wrong,” Ted checked his instruments, “Got a small problem here.”

 

Ted stopped his climb and levelled out.  Above him the melee still raged.  Fighters were rolling and weaving and diving.  Tracers lit up the entire night.  Ted kept low and continued to check his instruments.  The engine was struggling and sputtering.  Small flames spat out of the exhaust.  Speed was slowly dropping. 

 

“You hit, captain?  Hey, watch that friendly fire!”

 

“I took a few shots to the wing and rudder.  Damn.  I overheated the engine and it’s dying.”

 

“Can you make it back to the field?”

 

The speedometer was dropping faster and the propellers had slowed significantly.

 

“Not in this condition,” Ted looked around the area, “I’ll have to make an emergency landing.  Tomahawk, it’s all you until I get back in the air.”

 

“Roger that.  We’ll keep these buys busy until you land.”

 

Ted flicked the switch to lower his gears and turned off his navigation lights.  He searched for a suitable area to land, avoiding the crossfire from the tanks.  There was a small field nearby.  He turned with the rudder and gently glided down.  The wheels touched the ground.  He slammed the brakes and put down the flaps.  Ted held his breath as the aircraft rumbled and hopped over the uneven surface.  The plane hit a small rock and jumped into the air, threatening to flip over.  A row of trees stood firm against the approaching metal monster.  Ted’s head bumped against the seat and the glass.  His hands tightened and he pressed against the floor and seat.  He watched the trees get closer and closer until…

 

Ted let out a long relieved sigh.  The plane just stopped when its nose touched the truck of the tree.  Ted opened the canopy and grabbed his bag of emergency supplies and equipment.

 

“Okay, now where to?

 

 

 

**VASILY “BEAR” ROMANOV**

“Turn off your engines and begin attacking in pairs.  Two strikes each,” ordered Vasily, “Once all bombs are away, retreat back to the rendezvous and rearm.”

 

“Understood, captain.”

 

Vasily flicked a switch and the grumbling and growling of the engine died.  The propeller slowed down, but kept spinning.  The plane banked to catch a glace of the battle below.  Pravda was holding steady, pulling back slightly to create a concave.  Saunders was cautious, advancing in a deep formation, reserves ready to leap into action. 

 

_Too easy._

 

The searchlights on the American tanks made it easy to find targets.  The white beams were bust focusing on the line of enemy tanks in front of them.  Saunders commanders used their guns to shoot at suspected targets. 

 

Vasily aimed for the rear tanks and pointed the plane down.  His predator eyes fixed on the tanks, eager to strike.  The wind rushed over the wings making a ghastly sound.  It was a like a wailing banshee, a resentful ghost, an evil witch flying through the night.  The silent sound struck terror into the hearts of the enemy on the Eastern Front.  And tonight, it paralyzed the hearts of Saunders. 

 

“Bombs away.”

 

A pair of fifty kilogram bombs fell from his wings.  He yanked back on the stick and pulled away as fast as he could.  As he flew, he watched the bombs blast the enemy.  Bright flashes burned his eyes.  The blast shoved his plane around.  A spray of sparks burst around the tracks and the rolling tanks swerved to the side.

 

“Two tanks immobilized on Saunders side of the river,” reported Vasily, “Wolverine, we’re going in for another attack.  All others that have not made a second attack, focus on the tanks that have just crossed.  We will cut off their escape.”

 

Vasily’s Po-2 pulled a wide turn, sluggishly carrying the remaining 100kg bomb.  The element of surprise was lost.  Searchlights pointed up and scanned for enemy planes.  Tank commanders caught buzzing shadows overhead and opened fire.  In moments the entire airspace was burning with anti-aircraft fire.  Rookie mechanic gunners returned fire to calm their nerves.  Small bullets glanced off of the thick armour and flew back into the air. 

 

Pravda saw the chaos caused by Sturmovich’s attack and launched a counter attack.  Katyusha was shouting and yelling orders to her subordinates to surround the enemy.  The Russians pressed forward in a slow and steady steel wall advance.

 

“Captain, we’re too slow to avoid the effective fire.  We should withdraw.”

 

“Nyet!  Complete your second attack then you may withdraw.  Attack from multiple angles simultaneously, as you had trained to do.  These Po-2s may be wood, but they can take a couple of hits.  Remember you are proud Russian pilots.  Do not be frightened by this trivial counter,” Vasily put his plane in another dive, “Wolverine, follow me.”

 

Vasily and his wingman dove on the American tanks.  The ghostly sound shrieking resounded through the air.  They honed in on their crippled prey.  Below the tanks swung the searchlights.  The bright white light filled the cockpit.  Vasily winced and looked away for a brief moment.  He strained to look through the light, to brave the defensive fire.  The bomb fell away from the play.  The Po-2 pulled away.  The gunner screamed as the plane violently shook and rocked from the blast.  Vasily used all his might to keep the plane level.

 

_Damn the lights.  I was too close that time.  Damage to the fuselage and wings, but I can still fly._

 

BOOM!

 

A massive blast tossed the Po-2 across the air.  Vasily grabbed the controls and forced the plane to maneuver as best as he could.  The rudder flicked left and right trying to straighten the plane.  Ailerons struggled to roll the plane.  Vasily yanked on the stick, forcing the elevator to push the nose up.  Every movement, every maneuver, every little change was resisted by the plane.  Every control surface was sluggish and sticking.

 

“AHHH!” Vasily screamed.

 

His plane levelled out and flew off just fifteen metres above the ground.  The low flying plane attracted every gun.  He struggled to avoid the incoming hail.

 

“What happened?” asked the gunner, machine gun rattling, “Why are we suddenly heavily damaged?”

 

“Wolverine!  You dropped your bomb too soon!” shouted Vasily, “I am heavily damaged from the blast!”

 

“I apologize, captain.  I couldn’t see the distance through the light.  Are you trailing black?”

 

“No, but I will need to make an emergency landing.  You are in command until I return.”

 

“Understood.”

 

“Cover my escape.  Gunner cease fire unless it is a plane.”

 

Vasily took the plane lower and lower, trying to conceal it in the shadows below.  Beneath the plane, Pravda was moving forward.  He could faintly see commanders wave and salute to him as he passed.  The engine was dying so he had to land quickly.  Vasily settled on a nearby field to the side of the main battle.  The plane came to a complete stop out in the open field.  The two occupants hopped out and took cover.  They waited several minutes until they were sure they weren’t spotted or in danger.

 

“Can you fix it, comrade?” asked Vasily, as he grabbed his emergency supplies.

 

“My name is Viktor, Captain Vasily,” said the mechanic examining the damage, “The damage isn’t too bad on the exterior, but the controls are another story.  Your rudder, ailerons, elevators need to be fixed.  The blast jarred all the controls inside.  Ha!  Radio’s out too.”

 

“Answer the question clearly and simply.  Can you fix it?”

 

“I can do some work with the supply bag I brought, but I need other tools and parts.  Tools and parts that were in the trailers the tanks towed.”

 

Vasily nodded, “Get started then.  I’ll return with what you need.”

 

“How?”

 

“I’ll walk there,” Vasily started walking, “I’ll use our comrades’ radio to get a tank to bring it all back.”

 

“Alright.  What if the Americans find me and the plane?”

 

“You may surrender,” Vasily glared at him, “But tell them nothing.”

 

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**KEI THOMPSON**

 

Kei rubbed her hands together as she walked through the cold, dark night.  Saunders’ attack was stopped dead in its tracks without having so much as escaping the bridgehead.  Luckily the force managed to retreat mostly intact but suffered substantial damage.  In total three tanks were knocked out and the bridge was now blocked.

 

_I wasn’t expecting an air attack that effective at night._

 

Saunders’ casualties were all caused by the bombs dropped on them.  In the darkness they couldn’t shoot down the enemy air, and she believed the spotlights gave them away.  Tanks that survived suffered substantial damage.  They limped away with damaged transmissions, broken turret rings, and smashed elevation mechanisms.  The retreat was still in progress and would be slow and crippled.  Kei hoped that they would be able to reform and hold out for another counter.

 

_I wish I was there with them.  Luckily, Naomi and Alisa are good commanders.  They’ll be in good hands until I get back._

 

Kei sighed, _I can’t believe I got thrown out of my tank._

 

Kei blew on her hands as they remembered the terrible strike.  Tracers flew all around her.  Shells crashed into the ground and water.  The cold night air burned with the smoke and powder of battle.  Kei was standing on top of the tank shouting commands and signalling with her hands.  With every crashing shell and fired round the tank shook and she struggled to keep her balance.  Then came the bombings.  When the first bombs fell she felt the hard concussive kick from the blast and was blinded by the light.  When Pravda began to push back, she ordered the tanks to withdraw.  That was when she fell.

 

Her driver panicked and withdrew at full speed.  Kei wobbled when the tank jerked back.  She nearly fell to a knee but managed to keep standing.  Then the ghostly sound returned.  Every commander buttoned up and hid in their tanks.  Kei tried to get back in but it was too late.  The second round of bombs fell.  The flash was brighter and the thunder was louder. 

 

The blast felt like a horse kicked Kei in the chest and then she got hit by a train before she could catch her breath. Before she knew what was happening she found herself laying on the ground in a world of silence.  Everything was a spinning blur around her.  When she tried to get up on her feet, her knees buckled.  She could barely move her arms.  All she could do was lay and wait until she recovered. 

 

_When I came to the battle was over._

 

“It’s a long walk back to base.  And cold,” Kei lamented, “Well, better warm up and start moving.”

 

Kei jumped up, smiled, and broke into a brisk jog.  In a cold dark night in cross country terrain, the jog didn’t last long.  After a few minutes Kei was running out of breath and had to walk.  She put her hands behind her head and took deep breathes, trying to hold back the yawns.

 

A small light danced ahead of her.  It was far too low to be a tank and too small to be a Saunders searchlight.  The light stopped moving and seemed to point right at her.  It flashed off and on, and off and on, in a repetitive pattern.  It wasn’t Morse or another code she knew, but it just kept flashing.

 

“Hello!  Hello!  Hello!  Over here!” shouted Kei, waving as she approached, “I got knocked from my tank!  Lend me a hand?  Hello?  Who are you, friend?  Hello?”

 

**VASILY “BEAR” ROMANOV**

It was a cold summer night but his thick leather pilot’s jacket kept him warm.  Vasily scanned the area with the flashlight from his pack.  Everything was quiet and there were no landmarks in the area.  He had been walking for several minutes trying to find the river.

 

_Where the hell am I?_

 

Vasily stopped walking and took the map from his pack.  He knelt down on the soft wet grass and spread out the paper.  Using a compass Vasily plotted the plane’s path.  With a quick tap he guessed his landing spot.  Next he plotted the path he walked.  He looked up at the stars and lamented.

 

_If I knew how to navigate with the stars and had a chart I’d know exactly where I am._

 

“No point whining over it,” Vasily crumpled up the map, “I if I keep heading westward I should make the river soon.  From there to the rendezvous.  Time to pick up the pace.”

 

Vasily broke into a quick time march, taking two walking steps then three jogging steps.  It wasn’t long before Vasily stopped again and took a knee and turned off his light.  There was a rumble in the distance and the clatter of tracks.  He couldn’t pinpoint where the sound was coming from or the type of tanks.  Vasily crouched lower and lower as the sound grew louder and louder.

 

_Shermans!_

 

Vasily froze.  Tactical thoughts kept racing through his mind, each one shouting over the other.  Run, stay, crawl, surrender, all of them flashed across his eyes.  And with each passing second the tanks got closer and closer.

 

CRACK!  CRACK!

 

Two shells flew across the battlefield and landed near the Sherman tanks.  The Americans turned their armour and returned fire blindly.  The shells flew directly over Vasily.  The pilot dove for cover and covered his ears.  In moments the battle intensified with both sides exchanging volleys.  Shots landed all around Vasily throwing dirt and stones over him. 

 

_I’ve got to get out of here and quick._

 

Vasily took several quick and shallow breaths.  He counted the seconds between each shot and tried to feel where they landed.  The Shermans started to move again, pressing forward against the unseen Pravda forces.  When Vasily heard the engines rev, he made a break for it.  Vasily jumped up and sprinted away from the battle.  In the bright muzzle flashes his shadow danced.  Behind him shells fell and flew.  Every impulse in his body screamed and begged for him to hit the dirt, but his iron will kept him running. 

 

Vasily ran and ran and run until he could barely keep standing.  The sounds and lights of battle were far behind him, the victor unknown.  He gasped and gulped for air, then fell to the ground.  Overhead the stars comforted him, trying to lull him to sleep with their gentle light. 

 

_Why haven’t the Authorities sent a recovery vehicle?  Why haven’t they stopped the match._

 

Then Vasily remembered, and that memory made him scowl.

 

_To hell with your ratings._

 

Vasily forced himself to stand and continue walking.

 

_But I’ll be damned if I lose this match._

 

“Where am I?” Vasily muttered as he reached for his map, “Where’s my map?  Don’t tell me I dropped it in the battlespace.  Any direction is as good as another.”

 

Now aimless and lost Vasily just kept walking, hoping that he’d find a friendly face somewhere.  It could have been seconds or minutes but soon there was someone in the distance.  He pointed his flashlight and turned it off and on.  Off and on, off and on.

 

“Hello!  Hello!  Hello!  Over here!  I got knocked from my tank!  Lend me a hand?  Hello?  Who are you, friend?  Hello?”

 

“Chyort,” Vasily shook his head, “It had to be you.”

 

**TED “TUSKEGEE” FRANKLIN**

 

Ted lost track of how much time he spent walking.  It began well.  He was able to find his way with a map and compass and was making his way toward the river.  Ten, maybe fifteen minutes and he would be able to reach the frontline and hop on a Saunders tank.  The dream almost became real, but it quickly turned into a nightmare. 

 

When he found Saunders main body it was in full retreat.  Pravda was steadily and aggressively advancing.  Cannons bellowed and roared, shaking the earth and tearing up the ground.  Machinegun rattled and swept over the entire area.  Red and white bullets raced against each other.  When they struck hull and metal the round would bounce and fly high into the air like a firework.  Several rounds seemed to be targeting the small light of Ted’s flashlight.  Without any hesitation, Ted turned off his light and dove for cover. 

 

The battle raged for what seemed like hours.  Ted grumbled and swore as he dragged himself across the field.  Mud dug under his finger nails and scraped against his jacket.  Blast and bellow drowned his shouts and hollers for help.  All the while he wondered why the Authority wasn’t stopping the match.  Still he persisted, crawling and pulling himself from the battle.  The earth rumbled and shook as the tanks moved.  He kept crawling and crawling.  When the fighting seemed to die down he broke into a crouching run.  Only when everything was silent and tracers stopped flying did he stand up and find his bearings.

 

_Okay, now where do I go?_

 

“Great, I lost my map too,” Ted sighed angrily, “That way, I guess.”

 

It wasn’t long until Ted found himself in another situation.  After wandering for several minutes over a battle scarred area a silhouette started to approach.  It was tall and shapely, and familiar.  Ted pointed the flashlight and was relieved.

 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said, “So you got lost too?”

 

**NONNA CHAIKOVSKY**

A nightly wind blew across the field.  Its cold touch lightly touched Nonna’s long legs.  Such a breeze would make anyone shiver, but Nonna was Russian.  To her this was nothing but another night in St. Petersburg.  She brushed blown hair from her face and continued walking.  She recollected the events that marooned her away from the battle.

 

After nightfall, Nonna led a spearhead into the American lines to flank the central position.  The attack began well.  Her detachment seemed to encounter the same formation from earlier in the day, with some slight reinforcements.  Everything was going well.  Nonna’s detachment crossed the river without much incident.  When they encountered Saunders they used their superior numbers to out maneuver and envelop the fewer Shermans.  Pravda was squeezing and squeezing Saunders into a tighter and tighter pocket.  Slowly the Sherman tanks began to withdraw, putting up some meagre resistance.  The darkness made the roar of the Firefly less intimidating.  Its large, lethal shells finding it hard to land a hit.  It was at this moment Nonna thought that everything was won.  But those hopes would be dashed.

 

Far above and shrouded in the dark silk of night, Midway’s Screaming Eagles approached.  Before she knew it the first strike fell around her.  The whistle of the falling bombs sent shivers down Pravda’s spine.  The formation froze and slowly scattered in confusion.  All the commanders buttoned up and took shelter in their armour.  All except for Nonna.  She watched as her company was assaulted from above.

 

All around her blinding light flashed when the bombs struck the ground.  The terrible high pitched whistle became a petrifying roar that pierced the heart of even the most courageous.  The earth shook as though it was going to split beneath the tanks.  After the first attack, Nonna’s company was suffered significant damage.  Only a couple of light tanks had been knocked out, but many, had been knocked about.  The formation was broken.  They were sitting ducks.

 

Nonna didn’t even have time to assess the situation when the second attack came.  The now fearsome rumble of propellers returned and let out a whistle.  Nonna’s crew had enough.  Without orders the driver put the tank into drive and tried to escape the diving fighter.

 

She couldn’t remember everything that happened next.  She recalled the flash, the blast, and the feeling of a hard impact against her entire body.  The next thing she knew she was laying in the grass staring up at the stars.  There was nothing but the scars of battle around her.

 

_I have to find Katyusha.  I have to find her.  Without me… without me…  Where am I?  How far have I walked?_

Nonna snapped out of her little world of thoughts, lost more than she had ever been.  There was a light in a distance.  A small faint light.  She walked toward it.  The light turned and beamed directly into her eyes.  It took a moment to adjust.  What she saw next was an acceptable sight.

 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” grinned the man, “So you got lost too?”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**KEI THOMPSON AND VASILY “BEAR” ROMANOV**

 

“Hey Vasily!  Fancy finding you here,” exclaimed Kei, as she approached, “What happened to you?”

 

“I had to make an emergency landing,” said Vasily, lowering his light, “Why are you out of your tank?”

 

“Your bombs threw me out,” Kei laughed, “It felt like I got kicked by a horse.”

 

Vasily grabbed Kei by the arms and sat her down.  Without asking permission, he began a rudimentary examination.  Vasily had Kei follow his fingers with her eyes.  He flashed light into her eyes and watched her pupils dilate and shrink.  He asked several non-intrusive questions about how she was feeling.  Whether she felt dizzy or light headed and such.  Kei didn’t seem to have any outward wounds, but Vasily made an effort to make certain.  Of course he was careful not to make inappropriate moves, not that Kei would mind.  Kei Thompson seemed to like all the attention she was getting, even though it was all business.

 

“So, why are you checking me out?” Kei winked.

 

“I’m not checking you out,” said Vasily, averting his eyes, “I was checking on you.  You may have suffered a concussion or other injuries from the blast.”

 

“Well I feel fine,” said Kei cheerfully, jumping back on her feet, “What’s the plan now, Vasily?  You get lost too?”

 

“You look fine too,” said Vasily, cheeks slightly red, “From a health view.  Don’t read into my comment.  Ahem.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to gather materials.  Then I shall return to my plane and continue my attacks.  Surely you’ll wish to do the same.”

 

Vasily started walking away in a direction he thought was right.  He walked for several minutes before the strange feeling that he was being watched became overwhelming.  Kei was walking right behind him with that signature American smile and confident walk. 

 

“Why are you following me?  I am going to the Pravda lines, not Saunders.”

 

“Well I don’t exactly know where to go and I don’t want to walk around in the dark alone,” said Kei nonchalantly “And…”

 

“Are you afraid of the dark?” Vasily laughed to himself.

 

“O-of course not!  What I was going to say is that there’s nothing that way.”

 

“You are trying to deceive me,” said Vasily, “That way is my rendezvous.  Your team is somewhere else.”

 

Kei shook her head, “I just came from there.  There’s nothing.  Maybe a few tracks and shell craters, but nothing else.  If you don’t believe me, we can keep walking and wasting your time.  I’m sure my team can beat Pravda without me, but without you…”

 

“My squadron is more than capable,” Vasily relented, “If there’s nothing that way, then where should we go?”

 

“Umm, that way?” Kei pointed.

 

“I came from there.  There is only my plane and it is not capable of flying at optimal performance.”

 

“That way then,” said Kei pointing in a direction perpendicular to where they came, “That seems good enough.”

 

Without a map or any way to navigate, Vasily couldn’t really argue with Kei.  He just nodded and led the way.  They mostly walked in awkward silence through the empty fields.  Every so often Kei would open her mouth and wanted to say something, but decided against it. 

 

Another cold wind rushed around them. Vasily, accustomed to the cold, didn’t even flinch.  At most the wind blew his hair into an inconvenient style.  Kei rubbed her hands together then crossed her arms.  Her long smooth legs shivered between every step.  Goosebumps crawled up and down her body, making her quiver.

 

“Brrr.”

 

“If you are cold you should not have worn those shorts,” said Vasily, “We can pick up the pace.  That will warm you up a bit.”

 

“No, no, I’m fine.  See?”  Kei tried to keep from shivering, “Totally fine.”

 

Vasily looked Kei up and down.  The Russian sighed and removed his jacket.

 

“Here.  Tie this around your waist,” said Vasily, offering his jacket, “Go on.  Take it and get warm.”

 

“I told you, I’m fine,” Kei tried to act tough, “It’s not that cold.”

 

“I insist,” Vasily looked a little concerned, “And you are shivering.”

 

Without asking Vasily tied his jacket around Kei’s waist by the sleeves.  His thick jacket made a sort of thick skirt around Kei’s legs.  It wasn’t completely warm but it help keep the wind away.  Her legs stopped shaking and she nearly blushed.

 

“Thanks.  But… won’t you be cold?  You’ve just got a shirt on.”

 

“This is nothing.  Come back in December and experience a Russian.  Then you’ll know cold.”

 

“Sure, I’ll come back.  As long as I can spend the winter with you,” Kei smirked.

 

Vasily chuckled once, “And if you get cold you can press up against me.”

 

“Snuggle with a bear?” Kei had a teasing expression, “I can do that.”

 

“You know I am joking, yes?”

 

Kei smiled and walked past Vasily.  Her eyes glittered in the night like jewels.  Golden silky hair danced in the moonlight breeze.  She pushed back her long blonde hair and flipped it, catching the Russian’s eye.  Each step was light and graceful.  Kei glided in front of Vasily.  She playfully spun around and gave Vasily a flirting glance before continuing on her walk. 

 

Vasily couldn’t find any words other than, “You know I was joking, yes?”

 

The beautiful Kei pressed a finger to her lips and said nothing.

 

**NONNA CHAIKOVSKI AND TED “TUSKEGEE” FRANKLIN**

The second pair of pilot and tank commander were also wandering around the battlefield.  They found a site of a different skirmish.  The ground was softer and damper than from where they came.  This was a good sign that they were on the right path.  Even better were the tracks that would certainly lead them to the river.  The problem was they couldn’t tell which were Saunders or Pravda, or which ones were going from the river, and which were going away.

 

“I think we should go that way,” said Ted, pointing with his light, “What do you think?”

 

“It does not really matter which we select since we do not know where we are to begin with,” said Nonna, “Let us follow your path but if we do not find our objective in ten minutes we return and go the other way.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” said Ted hiking up his pack, “Let’s –“

 

BRRRRMMMM!  BRRRMMM!

 

Nonna immediately dove for the ground and covered her ears.  Above an unseen number of planes were preparing their strike.  The deep rumble of the engines grew louder and louder and louder.  Ted turned off his light, not only to keep the bombs from falling on them, but also to hide his satisfied smile.  He recognized the sound of the engines.  It was Midway’s B-25s moving for a second sortie.  Another carpet of bombs would fall on Pravda, hoping to smash a hole in the enemy lines.

 

But there was a more important matter than victory.  Ted reached into his emergency pack and pulled out a flare gun.  He pointed it toward the sky and pulled the trigger.  A bright red flare flew into the air.  It long tail for sparkling embers twinkling like ruby stars.  Its beauty was short lived as it quickly petered out.

 

“Why did you do that?!” protested Nonna, “They may bomb us!”

 

“Relax, that was a downed pilot signal flare,” said Ted, putting the flare gun away, “All AirCom pilots know what it means, so don’t’ worry.”

 

Nonna recomposed herself, “Well then, since those plane must be headed to combat areas I suggest we follow them.”

 

Ted nodded and they started walking toward the sound.  It wasn’t long until they saw the flashes of cannon and the explosion of bombs.  The cacophony followed the flashes then came the smell of smoke that made their eyes water.  They started to run, hoping to catch the battle just as it ended.  However, when they finally reached the area, it was all over.  All that was left for them were the battle scars in the dirt.

 

“Damn, not even a single tank was knocked out,” Ted lamented, “I’ll have to give the boys a stern talking to when I get back.”

 

“Da.  I’m disappointed in my company as well.  Surely they should have landed one crippling hit at least.”

 

Grrrr…  Grrr….

 

Ted swivelled around, flashing his light at anything, “What was that?  A wolf?  A bear?”

 

Nonna looked away, her cheeks flushed red, “I’m sorry.  That was me.”

 

Ted rummaged through his pack, “Catch.”

 

Nonna caught a small pouch containing a small box of crackers, a tin with key, a bar of chocolate, and a small bottle of water.  Nonna was about to ask Ted what this was for, but the American pilot was grabbing a parcel of his own.  Ted hopped into a small shell crater and took a seat.  Without much reason to oppose, Nonna joined Ted.

 

“What is this?” she finally asked.

 

“Standard issue emergency K-ration,” said Ted, grimacing at the thought of the flavour, “Every AirCom pilot brings them to every match.”

 

“Everyone?”

 

“Everyone.  In case there’s an emergency like a crash or landing.  Usually they happen out of the grounds and away from the airfields.  Search and rescue, that sort of stuff, you know?” said Ted, opening the tin, “I’m sure you tankery folks have something similar right?”

 

“No we do not.  Our vehicles are recovered as soon as possible, as is the crew.  Though long matches often mean we must bring food with us.  But never emergency kits like yours,” explained Nonna lengthily, “What else is in your kit, if I may ask?”

 

“Let’s see here,” Ted rummaged through his pack, “Two more flares, aid kit, blanket, matches and lighter, some candles, whistle and mirror.  And the two days’ worth of supplies we’re eating.”

 

“Two days?  Pilots are expected to survive that long?”

 

Ted nodded.

 

Nonna looked down at the tin of meat.  She moved it around with the attached fork.  Ted was holding his nose with each bite.  He seemed to be eating the meat quickly to avoid “savouring” the taste.

 

“May I ask if you had ever been stranded before?  Away from everyone?” asked Nonna, understanding this was very personal.

 

Ted put down his tin, “Yes.  Once.  It happened two years ago during the Cursed Year.  Heh, heh heh, now that I think about it was kind of like how I got stranded today.  I was flying a P-40 that day and I told the mechanics to skip the maintenance so I could rush to the battle.  During the fight with Ohka I took several hits along the tail and engine.  I pulled off and tried to retreat.”

 

Ted chuckled, “Never tell your mechanics to skip the maintenance.  As soon as I got out of the battle space the engine started dying.  And as it died the nose dipped and I couldn’t pull up because of the damage.  I crashed in a forest, oh, God maybe twenty miles from the airfield and match zone.  Took them a full day to find me and salvage my plane.  Hey, at least this time we’re inside the match area.  So that’s a silver lining.”

 

“I suppose it is,” Nonna smiled softly, “What is the Cursed Year?”

 

“That was the year when all the teams suffered some major accidents.  If you want to know you’ll have to ask them.  Bad year,” Ted opened his box of crackers, “How’s your sister doing?  Hope I didn’t spoil her too much.”

 

“She is doing very well, thank you,” Nonna shook her head, “However she has been doing your ‘Ethiopian Sand Dance’ ever since.”

 

Ted laughed, “Is she any good?”

 

“Not at all,” Nonna sighed and drifted back into a little memory, “I hope she’s not waiting for me.  I told her that’d I’d be late.”

 

Ted checked his watch, “It’s near eleven already.  Can a little girl like her stay up this late?”

 

“Her will to stay up will keep her up.  Especially if I made a promise to her.”

 

“Mind if I ask what promise?”

 

“It’s a silly promise.  I promised to sing her to sleep every night until Pravda left port.  Sadly, I may not sing to her tonight.”

 

In a futile attempt to make up for her promise, Nonna started to hum.  Bayushki Bayu was Lisa’s favourite lullaby and Nonna sang it with a silky smooth voice.  Without realizing it, Nonna started to softly sing the words in Russian.  Ted listened closely, letting himself be carried away by the melody.  The stress and exhaustion seemed to melt away from them.

 

“Okay, that’s it,” Ted stood up.

 

“What is it?” asked Nonna, following him.

 

“We’re ending this match and getting you back home.  Little Lisa wants to hear a lullaby from her big sister,” Ted was more determined, “Let’s go that way.”

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**NONNA CHAIKOVSKI AND TED “TUSKEGEE” FRANKLIN**

They were moving at a brisker pace, nearly jogging to an unknown destination.  Gunshots and cannon blasts echoed throughout the walk.  In the distance were the flashes of battle.  Every time they ran to the fray, but when they arrived it was all over.  Every time they had to guess where to go next.  For a while it seemed they would never find a way back to their teams or bases.  There didn’t even seem to be a search party looking for them.

 

“Plane!  Plane!” called Nonna, crouching down.

 

Ted turned off his light and crouched beside Nonna.  They watched as the navigation lights went overhead.  After a few moments they stood up to follow the lights.  Suddenly the lights came back around and started a shallow dive.  The two stranded commanders dove for the earth and covered their heads.  A deep blasting sound preceded a softer rushing sound.

 

POP!  POP!

 

Rockets burst above them, showering the area with light.  Realizing it wasn’t bombs, Nonna and Ted stood up, started yelling and waving, trying to get the attention of the pilot.  But the Mustang just turned around again and flew off.

 

“Of course.  He’s looking for tanks, not us,” said Ted scornfully.

 

“But what about your flare?  Shouldn’t they be looking for us too?”

 

“Maybe,” Ted shrugged, “I know they called it in, but what happens after is anyone’s guess.  What I can’t figure out is why the Authority hasn’t stopped the match to get us.  Damn it all!”

 

Ted stomped around the field while trying to figure out what to do.  The bright flares above were slowly descending making shadows dance.  As Ted kicked up dirt and drove up divots, Nonna was thinking intensely.  There had to be a way to at least get back to base.  A way to get home and make a call.  The bright white-yellow light was slowly dying, turning to orange.  A glint caught her eye.  As the flare dropped it made the glint brighter and brighter until…

 

“Ted, over there,” called Nonna, “Is that…”

 

“A plane!” Ted jumped and clicked his heels, “Halleluiah!  It’s a Po-2.  Let’s hope it still serviceable.”

 

Ted ran up to the plane and jumped into the cockpit.  He checked the instruments then jumped out to check the wings and engine. 

 

“See anything wrong with the tail end, Nonna?” asked Ted, opening the hood.

 

“What am I looking for?” she asked, running her hand down the tail.

 

“Any holes, give it a tug and see if it’s sticky or hard to move, there might be some wires so see if they’re frayed to snapped,” Ted closed the hood, “Engine looks fine and so do the wings.  Wonder who flew this thing.”

 

“I see no problems, but won’t there be a problem for an American from Midway flying a Pravda aircraft?”

 

“We’re not getting into combat and we’re not going to steal this things.  We’re just trying to get safe and home.  I’m sure they’ll let it slide… I hope.”

 

Ted found a piece of paper clipped to the throttle.  It was a short note written in Cyrillic script.

 

“Nonna, do you know what this says?”

 

“It’s from his mechanic gunner,” Nonna read the note, “He says he was picked up by a Pravda scout tank and will be with them until the match ends.  He also says he was able to repair what he could and it can fly, but only a short distance.  There’s a map under the seat and he’s marked where we are.”

 

Ted reached under the chair, “Found it.  We might be able to make my airfield from here.”

 

Nonna’s eyes widened, “This is Captain Vasily’s plane.”

 

“You’re kidding.  The Bear is out of the fight?  Then where’d he go?”

 

“Off to find help I suppose.  He may be returning.”

 

Ted thought intensely, “If he comes back he’ll just have to wait here.  We’ll fly back and get some real help.  I think that’s the best we can do.”

 

“The radio.  Does his radio work?”

 

“CQ, CQ, this is Tuskegee.  Anyone read?”

 

Nothing but a garbled mess came through.  He couldn’t even tell if his message was getting out.  He looked at Nonna and shook his head. 

 

“Then we have no choice.  We’ll follow your plan.  What shall I do?”

 

“Put on this parachute and take my gear,” Ted handed her a pack, “Have you ever been a plane gunner before?”

 

“No, but I’ve been the gunner for my tank.”

 

“Same thing, just more… exciting,” Ted pushed himself up against the wing, “Now help me push this around and we’ll take off.”

 

**VASILY “BEAR” ROMANOV AND KEI THOMPSON**

 

POP!  POP!  POP!

 

Three rocket flares burst overheard.  Fighters swooped below the blinding light to catch even the slightest glimpse of the enemy.  Their loud screech echoed off the ground.  Twice.  The fighters swept over the area twice to make sure they didn’t miss and inch of an enemy tank.  With nothing below, the Screaming Eagles disengaged to search another section of the battle.

 

“All clear,” said Vasily.

 

Kei and Vasily stood out of a dense row of bushes.  Leaves and twigs clung to their clothes and hair.  Shadows flickered around them to the rhythm of the flashing flares.  Far off in the distance another set of flares was slowly descending.

 

“Hey!  Hey!  We’re down here!  We’re down here!” Kei hollered and jumped, “Hey!”

 

“They can’t hear you,” said Vasily, “And I’m out of flares to signal them.”

 

“Why did we hide in a bush anyway?” asked Kei, hands on her hips.

 

“It’s one thing to see a flare, it’s another to see people.  We’re still in the combat area, they might have mistaken us for tank crew.  Let’s keep going that way.”

 

“Okay, okay.”

 

It was an awkwardly silent walk across the emptiness.  Vasily kept stealing glances at Kei, remembering the picturesque twirl and teasing smile she flashed moments ago.  Kei tried to avoid meeting Vasily’s eyes, her cheeks were a little red.  Perhaps she was embarrassed or maybe she thought she’d gone a little too far.

 

“Are you still warm?” asked Vasily.

 

“Y-yes, thank you.  Umm… how are you?” asked Kei, fiddling with his jacket.

 

Kei’s stomach growled.

 

“Here, take this,” said Vasily tossing Kei a small parcel, “Let’s head over there by the wood.  We’ll take a break there.”

 

“What is this?” asked Kei, opening the parcel.

 

The small package contained a can, a small box, and a small jar.  The small box was plain and had some writing in Russian.  The tin was generic and had a small picture of a ham and a small spork attached to the top.  The jar had something red inside.

 

“A ration loaf, some meat, and jam,” said Vasily, “Not the most appealing meal, but it will fill you for now.”

 

“What about you?  Aren’t you going to eat?” asked Kei, sitting against a tree.

 

Vasily sat across from her, “I had eaten before my flight.”

 

Kei opened the box and pulled out the slices of thick loaf.  It was hard, almost stale.  When she broke the bread crumbs flew everywhere.  When she opened the tin she grimaced at the nasty sight of ground mixed meat.  Luckily the jam made the meal a little more bearable, though the jam was more sour than sweet.  Vasily watched as Kei tried to wolf down the less than savoury meal. 

 

_Grrrwwwlll…_

 

“What was that?” asked Kei, “Another plane?”

 

“It was nothing,” said Vasily curling up.

 

_Grrrwwwlll…_

 

Vasily looked away, pretending to take interest in something else.  Kei grinned, with jam on her cheeks, when she saw Vasily’s reddened cheeks.  She gathered up the food and moved to take a seat beside her partner.  Vasily shuffled away, but Kei just shuffled closer.  She broke off another piece of bread, slathered on some jam and put on a spot of questionable meat.

 

“Say ‘ahh’,” said Kei, “Ahh…”

 

“What are you doing?  I told you I’m fine,” said Vasily, the little crumpet poking his cheek.

 

_Grrrwwwlll…_

 

“Your stomach says otherwise.  Besides, this is too much for me to finish.  Help a girl out.”

 

The little morsel didn’t appear appetising, and the taste was questionable.  But it was so close.  Vasily’s mouth watered and his stomach churned louder and louder.  Kei’s soft, pretty face and golden blonde hair made it all the more tempting.  Who wouldn’t want to eat out of such a maiden’s hand?  Feigning resignation, Vasily leaned forward and said ‘ahh’.  Kei popped the morsel into his mouth and giggled.

 

“So how is it?”

 

Vasily wiped away the crumbs and jam, “We’re lucky they haven’t expired.”

 

Kei recoiled at the thought, “You know when I said you should take me out for Russian food to say thanks for the barbecue, this wasn’t what I had in mind.”

 

“I promise you that I’ll take you out properly,” Vasily looked away, “To make up for this terrible experience, and to properly thank you.  Not for any other reason.”

 

Kei looked up at the stars, “I wish we’d find a way out of here soon then.  That way you can make good on that date.”

 

“It’s not a date!”

 

PSSSHHH!  POP!

 

Another rocket flare burst overhead.  Kei and Vasily winced as the sudden flash burned their night vision away.  Vasily looked up at the heavens watching the plane circle then leave.  But Kei was looking off several yards away, just outside the forest.

 

Kei pointed to what she saw, “Vasily, what’s that?  Is that what I think it is?”

 

Vasily turned around and started laughing maniacally.  He looked at Kei with a crazy look in his eyes then stood up.  Lightly touching the trunk of a tree was their salvation.  It had a long aluminium frame, checkers along the wings, a bubble canopy, and the powerful engine with four long black propeller blades. 

 

“I can’t believe it.  We’ve been saved by my rival,” Vasily knocked on the plane, “It’s Tuskegee’s P-51.  It would only be more poetic if he found my plane used that to get home as well.”

 

Vasily climbed up the side and checked the cockpit before jumping in.

 

“Did he get shot down?” asked Kei.

 

“I don’t see the indicator that he did.  The damage on the wings and fuselage isn’t substantial either.  I wonder…”

 

Vasily flipped the engine ignition switch.  The engine sputtered and struggled.  The long propellers slowly turned, tip of the nose rubbing against the wood.  Then smoke started to waft out of the compartments and tongues of flame spat out of the exhaust.  Vasily turned off the engine and the symptoms stopped.

 

“He overheated the engine,” said Kei, “That’s why he had to land.  Can we still use it to fly out of here?”

 

“A short distance, not enough to get back to my airfield,” Vasily grabbed the mask and tried the radio, “This is Vasily Romanov, does anyone read me?  Repeat, does anyone read?  Radio is out too.  Damn it.”

 

As Vasily fumed in the cockpit, Kei walked around the plane doing a sort of basic inspection.  At the front Kei managed to open the hood.  With experienced eyes she traced every tube and wire and gear and part.  It was hot, making beads of sweat form on her head.  Cautiously she reached in.  It wasn’t burning hot, but her hand pulled away instinctively.  She wrapped her sleeve over her hand and began to tinker.

 

“Hey, stop that.  That’s not a tank engine, that’s a high performance fighter engine,” said Vasily, “Are you listening to me?”

 

Kei just waved and continued to tinker and work with the engine.  Vasily just shook his head, not expecting anything productive to be done.  Instead he tried to figure out exactly where they were.  He tried to guess where they were by checking the distance Tuskegee may have travelled, using the bearing to find the current facing and other techniques he learned in his years flying. 

 

“At best that way is my home airfield,” guessed Vasily, “But the engine won’t get us there in one piece.”

 

“Hey Vasily, can you give the engine another go?” called Kei.

 

“It’ll just smoke and overheat, Kei.”

 

“Just humour me, please.”

 

Vasily sighed and flicked the switch.  Again the engine growled to life, spinning wildly.  Vasily’s fingers tensed around the switch and would act as soon as smoke started to spew.  Small flaming tongues stuck out of the exhaust.  Usual smoke puttered out of the engine, it wasn’t spewing out from overheat like before.  The instruments said everything was normal. 

 

“It worked!” cheered Kei, “Now let’s get out of here.”

 

Vasily’s was slack jawed, “How did you… you’re not a mechanic.”

 

“I learned from my dad.  He’s a mechanic back in Texas,” said Kei, “Been working with oil and grease since I was six.  So how do we get this out of here?”

 

Vasily climbed out of the cockpit and pressed up against one of the wheels.  He waved for Kei to push up against the other one.  With a few grunts and groans they managed to slowly roll the aircraft away from the trees and into the field.  Together they spun it around and did a quick check to get ready for takeoff.

 

“So uhh… there’s only one seat,” said Kei stating the obvious.

 

“Yes, you’ll have to sit behind me.  You don’t mind do you?” Vasily tossed her the survival pack.

 

“Of course not.  I’m just thinking it might be uncomfortable for you,” said Kei, the darkness hiding her red cheeks.

 

Vasily took Kei gently by the hand and helped her up onto the wing.  Next he helped the lady get seated in the cockpit.  Uncomfortably and embarrassingly, Kei had to keep her legs apart so Vasily could sit comfortably.  The pilot realized how awkward this was and averted his eyes out of courtesy.  While saying an apology for the circumstance Vasily eased himself between Kei’s legs.  Next he strapped themselves safely to the chair.  Instinctively he leaned back to relax only to feel Kei’s warm bosom press up against him.

 

Vasily sat up straight and a little flustered said, “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to.”

 

Kei wrapped her arms around his chest.  Her breasts gently pushed against his back.  Her soft, warm cheek brushed up against his.

 

In a soft voice she said, “I don’t mind.”

 

Vasily leaned back a little, more at ease knowing he didn’t overstep his bounds.

 

Vasily flipped the switch.  The engine roared to life.  Hot wind blew over the open canopy and into their faces.  Vasily leaned out of the cockpit and looked for obstacles as the plane began to roll down the field.  When it started to move faster and faster, gaining momentum and hopping across the field, Kei reached up and closed the bubble canopy.  Takeoff flaps extended and Vasily looked back at his passenger.

 

“Hold on tight.  This’ll be an interesting flight.”

 

Vasily yanked back on the stick and the Mustang roared into the sky.

 

“I hope Ted won’t be too mad we barrowed his plane,” said Kei cheekily.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**KEI THOMPSON AND VASILY “BEAR” ROMANOV**

 

A sleek silver stallion galloped across the star filled sky, moonlight glistening off its silver wings.  It rumbling engine singing musically thought the moments.  This proud steed hoped to carry its weary passengers to the comfort of their home.

 

“How far until we get to your airfield?” asked Kei, holding on to Vasily.

 

“Twenty minutes give or take,” said Vasily, “If we don’t suddenly find ourselves in a dogfight.”

 

“Uh oh, you jinxed us,” teased Kei.

 

“I didn’t take you for the superstitious type,” Vasily peered ahead, “Do you see that ahead?”

 

Kei leaned over Vasily’s shoulder and looked through the same sight.  There were four specks ahead and growling larger.  They seemed small, but she couldn’t tell if it was fighter or bomber, let alone friend or foe. 

 

“I see four dots up ahead, I think.”

 

Vasily nodded, “Yes, I do to.  I hoped I was just exhausted and seeing things.”

 

“I told you you jinxed us.”

 

Vasily looked around and there was another group of larger planes cruising toward another sector.  Below the battle was raging.  Amid the flashes of the cannons and blasts of the shells they could make out the shapes of the tanks and the many buildings below.  It was the small farming village and, based on the defensive line, Saunders’ objective zone.  From above it looked like Kayusha’s main line had been pushed all the way back and was on the defensive.  Kei pointed out a long nosed tank which was probably Naomi’s firefly. 

 

“Alright Alisa!  You finally broke through,” Kei laughed cockily, “Looks like Team America’s going to take this one hands down.  Good effort on your part though.”

 

“If that is my defensive objective and those are Pravda and Saunders tanks, then those must be,” Vasily ignored Kei’s statement, “And those must be.  Chyort!”

 

Vasily rolled the plane, making Kei scream.  The four specs in front of them unleashed a stream of red fire.  He pulled up as hard and quickly as he could, straining against the excessive g-forces.  Behind him his own Sturmovich La-5s were giving chase.  In the darkness his comrades fired, guessing as to where their captain was. 

 

“If only the damn radio wasn’t broken,” cursed Vasily, “You doing okay back there?”

 

Kei was panting heavily.  Her eyes were rolling back and her grip had loosened.  When the plane moved she moved with the motion limply.  When she tried to reply all she could muster was slurred and slow speech.

 

“I can’t see,” she said in the brief moments of clarity.

 

“G-lock,” muttered Vasily, “Can you hear me?  Are you with me?”

 

“Yes,” she huffed.

 

Another stream of fire rushed under the wings.  Vasily jerked the rudder and watched a La-5 zoom under him.  He dove steeply and pulled up hard to avoid another attack.   Kei bumped into his back and started to black out.

 

“Kei, listen to me,” said Vasily calmly, “I know this hard but you can pull through.”

 

He pulled another hard turn, returning fire to try and discourage another attack.  Kei nearly passed out from the violent movement.

 

“Kei, when we turn I want you to clench every muscle in your body and take a deep breath.  Squeeze every muscle as hard as you can,” Vasily looked over his shoulder, “Okay here we go.  Do it!”

 

The stolen P-51 pulled a sharp climb and the rudder flicked to spin back around.  The blood started to rush from their heads.  A shade of darkness crept around their vision.  Kei took a deep breath and held it.  She clenched all her muscles, squeezing as mush blood to her head.   Her thighs tightened, pressing against Vasily’s legs.  She pulled her arms in, bringing Vasily closer to her and her closer to Vasily.  She closed her eyes and grunted against the strain. 

 

As they escaped the turning attack, Vasily glanced back at his passenger.  Kei was still gripping on to him tightly.  Her breathing was calmer and her eyes were clearer.  Kei was doing better than she had before, but she still wasn’t up to the constant strain.

 

“We got to stop this,” said Kei, “I can’t keep this up.  You’re too vigorous for me.”

 

“Now’s not the time to flirt,” scolded Vasily, a pair of cannon rounds splattered against his left wing, “But you make a point.”

 

All around the planes started to swarm.  Vasily was doing everything he could to avoid the attacks but the Mustang was less maneuverable and agile than his La-5.  Another round smashed against his fuselage, stiffening all the controls.  Rains of fire got dangerously closer and closer to land a hit. 

 

There was a very tempting thought to allow himself to be shot down.  To let his team claim the enemy squadron leader’s plane and points, but that was dishonorable.  That was against Gentlemen’s Rules.  So Vasily endured and evaded the attacks, searching for a way to escape.  Then he spotted the other three planes in the distance.  They were getting closer and he could just make out the shape.  It was a gamble, but he had to try.

 

“We’re going to do one more hard turn,” said Vasily, “Hold on tight.”

 

The P-51 did one last flip and ascended in a hard right turn.  The La-5s pulled a shallower more haphazard turn to avoid crashing.  In moments however they were back on the Mustang’s tail.  Luckily Vasily managed to get some distance.  He bobbed and weaved in the darkness as bullets flew around him. 

 

As they approached the bogies Vasily gave them a little squirt of the machineguns.  The bogies returned fire with every gun in their arsenal.  Through the flashes and tracers it was exactly as Vasily hoped.  Three B-25 bombers were beginning another attack.  So close to the objective they could not break formation and had to pour on the defensive fire.  Enemy gunners swept all around them, blanketing the area in fire.  Every inch of the sky was burning with bullets, like a horrible swarm of angry bees. 

 

Their Mustang dared to get as close as it could to the enemy bombers.  Through the muzzle flashes they could see the determined and frightened faces of the gunners.  Vasily went inverted and slipped under the belly of the next, then cut across the starboard of the last.  Then he looped around the formation again, braving the crossfire.

 

Pravda’s La-5 started to break off the chase and engage the bombers.  The accurate gunners managed to keep them at a distance, but responding fire pecked at the wings and tail.  Four La-5s buzzed and harassed Midway but the last was persistent.  The last fighter kept on their tail, matching the movements through the fire.

 

“It must be Artyom.  Only he would be skilled enough to do this,” Vasily sighed, “And I’m not used to this plane.  Kei, we might be getting shot down.”

 

“Dive,” she whispered.

 

“What?”

 

“Dive,” she said softly, “Ted was saying that a Mustang can outrun you if it dives.”

 

“Worth a try.  Hold on and tighten up.”

 

Kei clenched up just as Vasily told her.  She gripped on to him tightly like a frightened maiden in a haunted house.  Her heart was racing, not only from the thrill of combat.

 

The rapid descent tried to lift them out of the seat.  Blood was rushing to their head, shading everything in red.  Behind the La-5 was desperately trying to score a hit as it lost more and more and more ground.  Suddenly Vasily yanked on the stick.  The lightweight feeling changed into a   crushing pressure throughout the body.  Shades of red were bleeding away into black.  Everything went dark.

 

Vasily gasped for air.  His vision was returning.  The instruments said he was level and at two hundred meters above the ground.  Just as he planned.  Vasily checked over his shoulder.  Artyom’s fighter had disappeared, but he couldn’t be lax.  Vasily pushed the plane to full power and sped away to his airfield.

 

“Ugh… ahh…”

 

Kei went completely loose and limp.  Her soft face rested against Vasily’s shoulder.  Long luscious golden locks of hair draped over Vasily’s chest and around his neck.  She was breathing softly and slowly, as if she was sleeping.

 

Vasily shook, trying to stir his passenger, “Are you okay?  Are you okay?  Kei?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.  Just tired.  Very tired,” Kei said yawning.

 

Vasily took the plane just above the treetops.  With a flick of the switch all the lights in the cockpit turned off.  He finally had a chance to relax.  Kei sighed, letting her breath caress Vasily’s neck.  The rugged commander’s expression softened. 

 

He placed his hand over Kei’s, “I’ll have a bed made for you when we land.”

 

“Can I sleep here?” she asked innocently, “On your shoulder.”

 

“Sure.  Sweet dreams.”

 

**TED “TUSKEGEE” FRANKLING AND NONNA CHAIKOVSKY**

 

Nonna firmly gripped the machinegun and kept her keen eye focused through the iron sight.  The tail bobbed and listed making it difficult to stabilize the gun.  She tightened her grip and tried to press the stock against her shoulder.

 

“You can relax a bit,” said Ted, “Shouldn’t be anything for miles.”

 

“Your fighters fell on us from nowhere when there shouldn’t have been anything for miles,” replied Nonna, “We must be vigilant.”

 

“Roger that.  But at this altitude, shouldn’t be many pilots risking it.”

 

The stolen Po-2 was cruising at roughly five hundred metres above the ground at maximum speed.  Whether or not it could be called maximum speed was relative.  To Nonna who spent most of her time in a tank that barely made forty kilometers per hour it was very fast.  To Ted who flew a Mustang regularly at five hundred kilometers per hour it was boringly slow.  It was also lightly armed.  If they came under attack it would be very difficult to fight back.

 

“How long until we reach your airfield?” asked Nonna.

 

“Still a ways to go, especially in this slow bucket of bolts.”

 

Ted tipped the plane side to side, peering at the ground below.  Some white lights were flashing, like they were sweeping the area.  Long bright beams cut through the air.  The sources were close.  They must have heard the Po-2s engine and were preparing to drive them off.  Ted cut the engine.  Their plane flew silently except for the eerie sound of rushing wind over the wings.  It should be indistinguishable from a harsh wind and hardly worth notice.

 

But still the lights kept searching, panning every inch of the sky.  The beams seemed to be turning to the source of the sound, the Po-2.  Ted tried to maneuver away from the lights, trying to predict where it would sweep next. 

 

Nonna and Ted winced, eyes burning.  Bright white light flooded the cockpit and enveloped the entire plane.  The plane jerked from side to side as they recovered from the surprise.  When their eyes adjusted they found the sky was filled with tracer fire.  Every tank from below was shooting at them.

 

“Shit!” Ted shouted, turning the engine back on.

 

The slowing engine suddenly regained its vigor and put the plane back at maximum speed.  Ted flipped and rolled the biplane, a maneuverable little craft, to avoid the attacks.  He made sharp and erratic turns to make him harder to hit.  All the while he was steadily ascending to try and escape the range of the guns.

 

“You okay, back there?” asked Ted as he made a left ascending turn.

 

“I am okay,” replied Nonna gripping the gun tighter.

 

“If you start blacking out just clench up.  It’ll help.  And let me know if you see any planes.”

 

“I will shoot them down if they approach.”

 

Ted muttered to himself, “I’d rather you not.”

 

At about a thousand metres above the ground and approaching the maximum range of the guns, the tanks stopped shooting at them.  Ted was relieved and set the plane back on a steady course.  Even Nonna relaxed slightly, leaning back into her chair and letting go of the gun.

 

“All clear up here,” said Ted, “Any damage on the back end?”

 

“I do not see anything,” said Nonna, “How are the controls?”

 

“Smooth.  Looks like we got off easy.”

 

BRRRR!  BBBBRRRR!  BBBBBRRRRR!

 

“What’s that sound?” asked Nonna, tensing up again.

 

“Plane engines for sure, but I can’t tell if it’s Russian or American,” said Ted, beginning a shallow dive, “I don’t see anything ahead.”

 

Nonna leaned forward and tried to pick up anything suspicious.  The stars were moving slowly, about the same speed as their plane.  The little specks of light seemed to shake and shiver, like her tired eyes.  For a brief moment she allowed herself to close her eyes and sigh.  When she opened them, after that brief split second, six new stars had appeared coloured red, green, and white.  She closed her eyes again, believing it was an illusion, a trick of a tired mind.  But when she opened them again the stars were still there and seemed to be getting closer.

 

“Planes on our tail!”

 

Ted quickly glanced over his shoulder and swore.  He flicked the rudder, rolling the plane downward rapidly.  As they spun Nonna fired two quick bursts.  Six rounds flew from the barrel, zig zagging through the darkness and getting lost in the void.  A volley of red tracers was returned, far more accurate than Nonna’s burst.  The red streaks flew over the little bi-plane and between the wings.  Ted jerked the aircraft again.

 

“Don’t shoot unless you can hit,” he barked, “They’ll use your muzzle flash to find us.”

 

“But I can see them,” said Nonna.

 

“But you’re not used to plane gunning.  Don’t shoot unless I tell you.”

 

Ted barrel rolled to the left, cutting the throttle and losing speed quickly.  The rushing interceptors over shot giving Ted a critical look at the enemy.  A pair of P40s split in front of them, rushing to get back on the offensive. 

 

“Double envelopment from left and right.  And if it were me, it would come from below,” muttered Ted, “Damn it.”

 

Ted pulled back on the stick climbing higher and slowing, aiming to do as tight a loop as possible.  Nonna felt heavier, her hair flew up when they were upside down.  She tracked the enemy planes as best she could, looking through the sights.  An itchy finger wanted to pull the trigger and unleash a stream of fire, but Ted’s voice kept her mind clear.  The fighters returned quickly and let out another close burst.  The bullets seemed to graze the canvas wings and wooden fuselage.  Ted grunted and looked over his shoulder to evade the next attack.

 

“Nonna, open fire on those planes,” ordered Ted, “Shoot them down, scare them off, I don’t care.  Just get them off our tail!”

 

“Yes sir!”

 

Nonna pulled the trigger and sent a bright white burst flying toward the targets.  She traced a long line across the sky, chasing after the navigation lights.  The Po-2 jerked and wobbled.

 

“I know you want to score a hit,” said Ted, “but don’t forget our tail is in your line of fire.”

 

“Apologies.”

 

“The damage doesn’t feel too bad.  Just please don’t hit it again.”

 

Nonna confirmed the order and her bursts were more controlled.  A few telltale sparks said she was hitting, but the enemy fighters kept coming meaning the damage was laughable.  She called out an incoming attack and Ted responded appropriately.  Ted dove sharply letting the enemy fly over.  Then he spun the plane in a way only biplanes could.  The whipping turn jerked Nonna and Ted violently.  In the haze Nonna pulled the trigger spraying bullets all around them.  In front, Ted was face to face with the second attacker. He squeezed the trigger and landed several hits right on the nose.  The bright sparks must’ve bothered the pilot because it pulled away without firing a shot.

 

“Ted, Ted!  We’re spinning!” called Nonna.

 

She was right.  The plane had lost control and was spinning like a top toward the ground, and rather quickly too.

 

“I know, I know,” said Ted calmly, “Easy fix, easy fix.”

 

Nonna’s heart was racing, trying to jump out of her chest.  She felt lighter as they fell, the chill of terror crawling up and down her spine.  Nonna braced herself against the protective glass and wooden fuselage, waiting for the plane to crash. 

 

Ted was very calm.  He stomped on the pedals, forcing the rudder in the opposite direction of the spin.  The engine was forced into maximum power, pulling against the centrifugal force. 

 

“Come on, come on, come on…”

 

Ted started to work with the ailerons to stabilize the plane.  The enemy fighters were circling around them, not daring to approach as the fighter continued to fall.  Ted let out a loud string of profanity and it seemed to work.  The plane broke out of its spin and started running toward its home. 

 

“Yahoo!  You doing okay back there?”

 

“Yes,” said Nonna almost angrily, “Please don’t do that again.”

 

POP!  POP!  POP!

 

Three red rounds stabbed into the side of the biplane.  The plane seemed to suddenly slowdown and was listing to the left.  Nonna got back on the gun and started firing.  Ammo was burning quickly and she had to reload several times.  The constant movements of the plane made the process difficult as she fumbled with the spent belts and tried to lock in the new one.  At the front Ted was engaging the enemy as well, taking well aimed shots when they passed and began to turn.  The battle seemed to rage for eternity and it was almost certain that they had gone off course, but they couldn’t stop, they wouldn’t stop.

 

CLICK!  CLICK!  CLICK!

 

“I’m out of ammo,” reported Nonna.

 

“Same up here,” Ted replied, “This isn’t good.”

 

“Surely they’ll be out as well.”

 

“They have over two thousand rounds of ammo each.  They’ve got plenty.  And don’t call me Shirley.”

 

A burst of fire raked the top wing and the maneuver suddenly became limp and rough.  Ted just barely managed to dodge the second burst with another spin.  Without any way to defend themselves, they could only flee and hope that every shot missed.  The fighters were getting closer and closer.  It was only a matter of time until they landed the fatal blow.

 

“Looks like this is it,” said Ted.

 

“But then we can go in peace can we not.”

 

“Yeah, but I’d rather not give away Vasily’s points.  Bad form and all that stuff.”

 

“There must be something,” Nonna fretted.

 

Her feet shuffled around the seat and hit something.  The package of survival supplies was open and still had a few flares inside.  Inspiration or desperation struck.  She loaded the gun and opened her glass bubble.  A streak of bullets flew over her head but she didn’t flinch.  Eagle eyes glared down the sights and aimed at the approaching plane.

 

PSSSH!  PIP!  POP!

 

The flare flew out and burst right in front of the enemy.  In the brief flash before the fireball grew she could see the face of the pursuing pilot.  She loaded another flare and fired again.  The second plane broke off blinded.

 

“Good thinking,” praised Ted, “How many more flares you got?”

 

“Two for the gun and one of the ones you hold,” said Nonna, loading the third shot, “How far until we can land?”

 

“Not close enough for two flares,” said Ted, “Sorry, but I think this is it, honey.”

 

Nonna fired the last flare warding off the last attack.  She watched as the fire burned brightly and slowly died away.  In the dying light she saw the pilots leaning forward into their sights, eyes burning with determination.  A spark.  Everything was engulfed in a sea of bright white light.  Smoke trailed behind the biplane like wisps.

 

“What the hell?” Ted looked back.

 

Nonna was standing tall out of the plane, hair whipping in the wind.  In her hand she held a bright star, bright as the sun, shining over her head.  It was the last flare.  Her face was defiant, eyes coldly glaring at the enemy daring them to attack.  Everything was illuminated.  Ted could see the entire profile of the plane and its grey and black camouflage, the bullet holes and every nook and cranny of the cockpit.  The P-40s approached, wobbling and bobbing, as if they were having difficulty seeing through the bright light.

 

They zoomed past, slowing just enough to catch a passing glance.  Ted’s eyes seemed to meet the other’s, with an expression of surprise without a doubt.  P-40s passed again, without firing a shot as if they were trying to get another look.

 

“Can’t you shake them off?” yelled Nonna.

 

“With that bright thing still burning?  No way, they’ll just follow.  What I can’t figure out is why they aren’t shooting.”

 

The fighters came in one last time but they didn’t pass.  Together they pulled alongside of the Po-2 and removed their masks.  The pilots saluted and waved their hands.  To Nonna the signals were a complete and utterly incomprehensible mess. Ted returned several hand signals.  All three pilots then nodded and moved into a formation.  The flare began to die, leaving the fighters in the darkness ahead and behind the biplane.

 

“Ted, what’s going on?”

 

“That move was genius, Nonna.  You really saved our bacon,” Ted laughed.

 

“I can see that, but what is happening?” asked Nonna.

 

“They saw me.  They saw me in the seat when you lit the flare,” explained Ted, “And they’re going to escort us back to the airfield.  It’s all smooth flying from here.”

 

Nonna let out a breath of relief and dropped back into her seat.  Her heart stopped racing and only now she noticed the beads of sweat on her brow.  She wiped away the cold sweat and closed her eyes.

 

“Hey Nonna, just because we have an escort doesn’t mean you can go to sleep, okay?  Nonna?  Nonna, you there?”

 

Ted looked back and saw Nonna resting in the back.  Soft, near snoring, breaths flew over her lips.  It was a peaceful rest, even though the plane was rumbling.

 

Ted smiled, “Well it’s not that big a deal.  You’ll be home soon.”

 

“MATCH OVER!”


	17. Chapter 17

**TED “TUSKEGEE” FRANKLIN AND NONNA CHAIKOVSKY**

 

Rows of lights lit the landing strip.  The escorting P-40s broke off to return to battle, leaving the Po-2 to land on its own.  Ted followed the usual procedures and landed the plane.  There were a few hops and bounces since it was lighter and damaged.  Nonna was woken rather abruptly because the rougher landing.  Without realizing where she was she jumped on the gun and started scanning.  It took a minute before she realized where she was.

 

“You can relax, we’ve landed at my airfield,” said Ted opening the cockpit, “Basic maintenance on this thing!  Don’t mess with anything, it’s a loaner!  And get the radio workin’!”

 

“You forgot to say please,” said a nearby mechanic.

 

“Please,” said Ted with a snarky tone.

 

As the rest of the mechanics were tiredly getting ready to make the repairs, Ted went to help Nonna out.  He gently took her by the hand and hip and helped her out of the plane.  Nonna thanked her pilot and he escorted her to the lounge.  Through the windows, curious pilots were watching, gossiping and joking as they approached.

 

“Hey Ted, I know we should learn everything about the enemy, but isn’t this too far?”

 

“Of all the things you stole it had to be a hunk of junk.”

 

“Laugh it up guys,” Ted motioned to Nonna, “Nonna, the guys.  Guys, Nonna.”

 

The group of downed pilots waved and gave a typical greeting.  Nonna replied formally and nearly coldly, but they didn’t seem to mind.  Nonna took a seat at a table in the corner.  Ted brought her a cup of coffee and took a seat across from her.

 

“Have we gotten any word on who won?” asked Ted to the room.

 

“Not at all.  Say they’re waiting for everyone to land and get back to base.”

 

“Heard they’re gonna announce it tomorrow morning.”

 

“Makes sense,” said Nonna, “I’m surprised anyone is still awake to watch.”

 

“Ratings, ratings, ratings,” said Ted.

 

“I should get going,” Nonna’s coffee barely touched, “How do I return to port?  I need to return to St. Petersburg.”

 

“And see your sister,” Ted stood up, “I’ll show you the way and escort you home.”

 

“Thank you,” said Nonna, “This was an exciting… night.”

 

 

 

**VASILY “BEAR” ROMANOV AND KEI THOMPSON**

 

Kei stirred in her seat, pulling her arms in closer and groaning in exhaustion.  As she pulled in her arms, she felt something was missing.  She wanted to open her eyes to see what happened but they were stubborn and kept shut.  Kei curled up a little more and kept on snoozing.

 

“You need to get out of the plane.  Wake up!  Get out of the plane,” said a stern voice.

 

“Five more minutes,” she moaned, turning away.

 

“Absolutely not.  Get out of the plane.  They need to work.”

 

Kei just groaned and moaned and stretched, pulling up the borrowed jacket for warmth.  A pair of strong hands grabbed the jacket and stripped it off in a single swoop.  It was a rough removal.  The sleeves slapped her face, and the zipper bit her cheek.  Angrily she stood up and was ready to yell at whoever was there.

 

“Hey, that hurt you know!”

 

“Ah, now you are awake,” said Vasily, putting on his jacket, “Good, now get out of the plane.  The mechanics have to make repairs.”

 

Kei held out her hand and Vasily reluctantly helped her out.  As soon as they were off of the wings, the mechanics rolled the plane into a hangar.  Within minutes she could hear tools and equipment working away.

 

“Judging by your less than happy face, you lost the match didn’t you,” said Kei as she followed Vasily.

 

“No, we didn’t.  At least we didn’t yet.  The judges are withholding the result until tomorrow morning,” said Vasily.

 

“Then where are you taking me?” asked Kei.

 

“I’m taking you to my office.  You can sleep there until morning,” Vasily sighed, “Do not take that the wrong way.  The last charter train, buses, and boats had left long ago.  There is no way back to Saunders, so I quickly got approval for you to stay here.  I assure you, you will be safe.”

 

When they opened the office door a blanket and pillows were already waiting for them.  Vasily took the phone on the desk and said a few words in Russian.  Kei put herself in Vasily’s large chair and started spinning like a giddy child. 

 

Vasily shook his head, “Do not fool around in my chair.  I’ve ordered some food and drink for you.  It should arrive shortly.  Good night.”

 

“You’re not staying here?” asked Kei.

 

“This is my ship and I have a room.  I will stay there.”

“Makes sense,” said Kei getting comfortable, “By the way, this doesn’t count as a Russian cuisine experience.  I’m still dropping by in winter.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

In the blink of an eye Kei had put out the spare bed, wrapped herself in a blanket, rolled over and was pretending to sleep.  Vasily shook her, hoping to set the record straight.  But Kei just kept on sleeping.  She even put in a couple sweet snores to try and be more convincing.  Vasily kept trying and trying, but eventually he gave up.

 

He shook his head in resignation and said, “Well at least still several months away.”

 

**THE FOLLOWING DAY**

 

 

The judges and authorities waited until the afternoon to assemble the teams.  There was no parade of armour, no flyby of fighters, no singing or cheering.  Just tired, nervous pilots and tank crew rolling up in trucks.  Oddly a pair of planes were being towed, one with each of the teams.  At the head of the trucks in jeeps were the team commanders, tired and exhausted.

 

When the commanders’ eyes met they were rather surprised to see each other.

 

“Kei, I didn’t know you got knocked out,” said Ted, “Damn that must mean we lost then.”

 

“My tank was fine when I left it.  I just got knocked out from the turret,” Kei put her arm around Vasily, “And this guy rescued me.”

 

“I did not rescue her.  We just happened to run into each other,” said Vasily, pushing Kei’s arm away, “Nonna, I assume the same happened to you.”

 

“Nonna!  What are you doing with the enemy,” shouted Katyusha.

 

“I apologize Katyusha, but I was also knocked out of my tank when the bombs fell,” explained Nonna, “Like Kei, I ran into Ted and together we returned to his airfield.  Vasily, we had to use your plane.  It is over there for your recovery.”

 

“We had to use your plane, Ted,” said Kei cheerfully, “It’s over there!”

 

“Well then, shall we exchange them now?” asked Vasily, looking at Ted.

 

“Sure,” Ted chuckled, “I want Kei back too.  In exchange you get Nonna.”

 

“This isn’t funny,” said Katyusha, “Nonna, come back here now.”

 

“Of course,” Nonna turned and shook Ted’s hand, “Thank you for last night.”

 

“Any time.”

 

“You go too,” said Vasily to Kei.

 

“Alright, alright.  Thank _you_ for last night too,” Kei winked.

 

Ted smirked and gave Vasily a curious nod.  The Russian Bear returned a curt expression which demanded the subject be dropped.  Soon after the exchange the judges appeared.  A large crowd had gathered to hear the results.  On the large monitor, highlights of the battle were played with commentary in both English and Russian.  The cameras even caught the moments when the pairs of commanders escaped in each other’s plane.  The crowd was applauding and cheering with every skirmish and dogfight.  When the camera panned over Kei, Vasily, Nonna, and Ted, the crowd got even louder.

 

“Both teams brought their entire might and power into this match and didn’t hold back.  They showed skill, and bravery on the attack and defense.  And though victory was on everyone’s mind they did not forget about honor and chivalry between strong rivals.  And now for the result,” said the head judge, opening an envelope, “Third place in the first international Combined Arms: AirCom and Tankery Tournament is awarded to…  Drumroll please.”

 

“Please be us, please be us, please be us,” muttered Kei excitedly.

 

Ted looked up at the heavens with fingers crossed.  Nonna was trying to keep Katyusha from charging forward to strip the paper and read it.  Vasily seemed to be calm, cool and collected, as he always was, but looking closely one could see a slight sway.  His feet were twisting into the ground nervously, and his heart was certainly pounding.  The crowd started murmuring as the judges teased and teased.

 

“TEAM PRAVDA!”

 

Every Russian burst into loud cheers and applause.  Patriotic Pravda flags appeared out of nowhere to wave the victory.  The Americans, though disappointed, politely clapped for their opponents.  For Saunders and Midway though, it wasn’t a disappointment, but a relief that it was now over.

 

“Congratulations,” said Ted, offering his hand to Vasily.

 

“Good fight,”Vasily returned, “Especially to you, young lady tank commander.  I was impressed.”

 

“Congratulations,” said Kei, “Too bad we didn’t win though.  I would’ve like to rub it in Katyusha’s face.”

 

“Please do not, she would be insufferable,” said Nonna.

 

“She’s insufferable after she wins too, isn’t she?”

 

“Yes, but I can manage that better,” Nonna admitted, “I must say Ted, your fighters and bombers were much more dangerous than we had thought.  I applaud you.”

 

“Same to you.  So what’s the plan now?  Big celebration party?”

 

“I believe a formal celebration dinner is what was planned, right Vasily?”

 

Vasily nodded, “What about you Americans?”

 

“Tourist time,” said Ted, “We ship out day after tomorrow and we didn’t get to see everything.  I’ll catch you later.”

 

“If you’d like, Ted, I can show some places,” said Nonna, “If you’d like that is.”

 

“That’d be swell.”

 

“How about you Vasily?” asked Kei, “Fancy showing a Texas girl around?”

 

Vasily raised his palm, “I must decline.  Take no offense.”

 

“None taken,” said Kei, “I’ll see you at Christmas then.  Like promised.”

 

Everyone in earshot gave Vasily an odd look, “Like promised?”

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**EPILOGUE**

 

Vasily sat in his warm office, looking out over the city.  It had been several months since the end of the tournament.  Snow was falling outside, coating the carrier in a thick white blanket.  Festive lights and décor was on every building and tree.  Inside the office was the same as always.  The portraits, the desk, the seats, tables, and papers.  There was a small Christmas tree tucked away in the corner that had yet to be decorated.  The team kept bothering him to do it, but there was still a couple weeks so he had time.

 

A hearty smell of roast coffee filled the room.  Vasily nodded, satisfied that his drink was ready.  The savoury dark liquid filled his tall mug, steam rising out of the surface.  He took the cup to his desk and leaned back into his seat.  Black coffee was the only true kind of coffee to Vasily.  It should never be bastardised with sugar or milk.

 

After the first delicious sip, Vasily looked out over the city again, watching the snow fall.  He opened his desk and pulled a large book from the drawer.  The leather bound book was old and thick.  A large red bookmark was barely a third into the massive tome.

 

_War and Peace.  Perhaps I can finally finish it._

 

He flipped to his last page and read the first word.

 

“You’ve got mail.”

 

Vasily sighed and opened his email.  The subject line simply read “Christmas List” and was from a familiar name.  He didn’t want to open it, but curiosity was too hard to resist.  It was Kei dressed in a mini Santa dress and beaming with cheer.  Music started to play and Vasily’s expression turned to complete horrified surprise.

 

Kei started a sultry dance, “Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree for me. Been an awful good girl.  Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney to night.”

 

“Nyet!” shouted Vasily, shutting his laptop, “Nyet!  Nyet!  Nyet!  What in the world makes her think that is appropriate.”

 

“I just wanted to put a smile on your face.”

 

“You’re kidding me,” Vasily walked up to the door, “Kei is that you?”

 

“Vasily baby, I want a yacht and really that’s not a lot,” she sang teasingly, “Been an angel all year.  Vasily baby, hurry down my chimney tonight.”

 

Vasily threw open the door and pulled Kei in before anyone else could see.  His eyes were wide and mouth ajar, in complete surprise.  And his expression was further exacerbated when he saw Kei’s outfit.  She walked all the way to his office in the same Santa outfit she had in the video.

 

“What are you doing?!”

 

“You promised to show me a Russian winter and treat me to Russian food, remember?”  Kei dropped into his seat, “Man I haven’t sat here in a while.  So, since all the carriers are here, I figured we’d have a little pre-Christmas party here.”

 

Vasily was red and flustered, “I was not informed and you just walked in here and – wait all the carriers?  Does that mean you…”

 

“Yup, she brought us along too,” said Ted, walking into the room in a Santa costume, “Merry Christmas, you Russian Bear.  Have a gift.”

 

Ted handed Vasily a small box from his prop bag.

 

“Don’t open it before Christmas,” said Nonna, wearing a tasteful elf costume, “This one is from me.”

 

“Nonna, is that the other pilot you told me about?” asked Little Lisa in the same costume.

 

“Yes, yes he is.  Now, be respectful and polite, Lisa,” said Nonna in a motherly tone.

 

Vasily was at a complete loss for words.

 

SNAP!

 

“That expression is priceless,” said Kei admiring the photo she took, “So, Vasily, what should we do first?”

 

“I suggest we go out on the town,” said Nonna.

 

“Great idea,” said Kei grabbing on to Vasily, “Let’s go!”

 

Before he could get in a word of protest, Vasily was pulled out of his office to a night of adventure.  The cup of coffee was barely touched.  The Christmas tree untended.  And _War and Peace_ was still sitting open on the desk.  He didn’t even get past the first page.


End file.
